FLOWER  0' 


PERCEVAL    GIBBON 


GIFT  or 

Professor  S.G.   Morley 


Jlr^ 


p^ 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 

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FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 


BY 


PERCEVAL  GIBBON 


'•  Flower  o'  the  peach, 
Death  for  us  all  and  his  own  life  for  each." 


Fra  Lippo  Lippi. 


NEW  YORK 

THE  CENTUEY  CO. 

1911 


^:P^   ^  (?n^jjL^^  -T.  ^.   ^>/-^ 


Copyright,  1911,  by 
The  Century  Co. 


Published,  October,  1911 


TO 
JESSIE  AND  JOSEPH  CONRAD 


^     p'ir%. 


THE  FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 


FLOWER  O'  THE  PEACH 


CHAPTER  I 

IT  was  late  in  the  afternoon  when  the  sheep  moved 
off,  and  the  west  was  full  of  the  sunset.  They 
flowed  out  from  the  cactus-ringed  fold  like  a  broad- 
ening trickle  of  milk,  with  their  mild  idiot  faces  set 
southwards  towards  the  sparse  pastures  beyond  the 
horizon,  and  the  dust  from  their  feet  hung  over  them 
in  a  haze  of  soft  bronze.  Half-way  along  the  path  be- 
tween the  house  and  the  dam,  Paul  turned  to  watch 
their  departure,  dwelling  with  parted  lips  on  the  picture 
they  made  as  they  drifted  forth  to  join  themselves  with 
earth  and  sky  in  a  single  mellowness  of  hue. 

The  little  farmhouse  with  its  outbuildings,  and  the  one 
other  house  that  reared  its  steep  roof  within  eyeshot  of 
the  farm,  were  behind  him  as  he  stood;  nothing  inter- 
rupted the  suave  level  of  the  miles  stretching  forth,  like 
a  sluggish  sea,  to  the  sky-line.  In  its  sunset  mood,  its 
barren  brown,  the  universal  tint  into  which  its  poor 
scrub  faded  and  was  lost  to  the  eye,  was  touched  to 
warmth  and  softened;  it  was  a  wilderness  with  a  soul. 
The  tall  boy,  who  knew  it  in  all  its  aspects  for  a  neigh- 
bor, stood  gazing  absorbed  as  the  sheep  came  to  a  pause, 
with  the  lean,  smooth-coated  dog  at  their  heels,  and 
waited  for  the  shepherd  who  was  to  drive  them  through 
the  night.    He  was  nearing  seventeen  years  of  age,  and 

3 


'FLOWEK'O'THE  PEACH 


the  wKdie*  6$.' tfidsc  yfeArah'ad  been  spent  on  the  Karoo, 
in  the  native  land  of  dreams.  The  glamour  of  it  was 
on  his  face,  where  the  soft  childish  curves  were  not  yet 
broken  into  angles,  and  in  his  gaze,  as  his  steady  un- 
conscious eyes  pored  on  the  distance,  deep  with  fore- 
knowledge of  the  coming  of  the  night. 

''Baas!" 

Paul  closed  his  lips  and  turned  absently.  The  old 
black  shepherd  was  eager  to  linger  out  a  minute  or  two 
in  talk  before  he  went  forth  to  his  night-long  solitude. 
He  stood,  a  bundle  of  shabby  clothes,  with  his  strong  old 
face  seamed  with  gray  lines  and  the  corners  of  the  eyes 
bunched  into  puckers,  waiting  in  the  hope  that  the 
young  baas  might  be  tempted  into  conversation.  He 
carried  a  little  armory  of  smooth,  wire-bound  sticks,  his 
equipment  against  all  the  perils  of  the  unknown,  and 
smiled  wistfully,  ingratiatingly,  up  into  Paul's  face. 

''Well?"  said  the  boy. 

It  all  depended  on  the  beginning,  for  if  he  should 
merely  nod  and  turn  away  there  would  be  nothing  left 
but  to  follow  the  sheep  out  to  the  silence.  The  old  man 
eyed  him  warily. 

"Has  the  baas  heard,"  he  asked,  "that  there  is  a  mad 
Kafir  in  the  veld?" 

"No,"  said  Paul.     "A  mad  Kafir?" 

The  old  man* nodded  half  a  dozen  times.  "There  is 
such  a  one,"  he  affirmed.  The  thing  was  done;  the 
boy  would  listen,  and  he  let  his  sticks  fall  at  his  feet 
that  he  might  have  two  hands  to  talk  with.  They  were 
speaking  "Kitchen  Kafir,"  the  lingua  franca  of  the 
Cape,  and  since  that  is  a  sterile  and  colorless  tongue — 
the  embalmed  corpse  of  the  sonorous  native  speech — 
the  tale  would  need  pantomime  to  do  it  justice. 

4 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

''There  is  such  a  one,'^  repeated  the  shepherd.  ''He 
goes  about  alone,  in  the  day  and  in  the  night,  talking 
as  he  goes  to  companions  who  are  not  there,  and  laugh- 
ing sometimes  as  though  they  had  answered  him.  And 
that  is  very  strange." 

"Yes,"  said  the  boy  slowly.  His  eyes  traveled  in- 
voluntarily to  the  veld  brooding  under  the  sky.  "Who 
has  seen  him?"  he  asked. 

"I  have,"  said  the  shepherd,  putting  a  big  black  fore- 
finger to  his  own  breast.  * '  I  have  seen  him. ' '  He  held 
out  his  great  hand  before  him,  with  the  fingers  splayed, 
and  counted  on  them.  "Four  nights  ago  I  saw  him 
when  the  moon  was  rising." 

"And  he  was  mad?" 

"Mad  as  a  sheep." 

Paul  waited  for  the  tale.  The  old  man  had  touched 
his  interest  with  the  skill  of  a  clever  servant  practis- 
ing upon  a  master.  A  hint  of  mystery,  of  things  liv- 
ing under  the  inscrutable  mask  of  the  veld,  could  not 
fail  to  hold  him.  He  watched  the  shepherd  with  a 
kind  of  grave  intensity  as  he  gathered  himself  to  tell 
the  matter. 

"The  moon  was  rising,"  he  said,  "and  it  lay  low 
above  the  earth,  making  long  shadows  of  the  stones  and 
little  bushes.  The  sheep  were  here  and  there,  and  in 
the  middle  of  them  was  I,  with  a  handful  of  fire  and 
my  blanket.  It  was  very  still,  baas,  for  the  wind  was 
gone  down,  and  I  heard  nothing  at  all  but  the  ash 
sliding  in  the  fire  and  the  slow  noise  of  the  sheep 
eating.  There  was  not  even  a  jackal  to  stand  out  of 
sight  and  cry  in  the  dark. 

"Perhaps  I  was  on  the  brink  of  sleep — perhaps  I  was 
only  cloudy  with  thoughts — I  do  not  know.     But  very 

5 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

suddenly  I  heard  singingT— a  voice  coming  nearer  that 
sang  a  curious  music/' 

** Curious!"  The  boy  was  hanging  on  the  words. 
''Curious!"  he  repeated. 

*'It  was  a  song,"  explained  the  old  Kafir,  **but  the 
words  of  it  were  meaningless,  just  noises  such  as  a  baby 
makes — a  babble.  I  listened,  for  I  was  not  afraid. 
And  soon  I  could  hear  footfalls  among  the  stones  and 
the  singer  came  between  me  and  the  young  moon,  very 
great  and  black  against  the  sky.  It  was  only  when  he 
stood  by  my  fire  that  I  saw  he  was  not  a  white  man, 
but  a  Kafir.  He  was  young,  a  strong  young  man,  wear- 
ing clothes  and  boots."  He  paused.  *' Boots,"  he  said 
again  and  thrust  out  his  own  bare  foot,  scarred  and 
worn  with  much  traveling.     ** Boots!" 

In  a  town,  it  is  conceivable  that  a  Kafir  may  wear 
boots  for  purposes  of  splendor;  but  not  on  the  Karoo. 
Paul  saw  the  old  man's  point;  here  was  an  attribute 
of  the  unnatural. 

''Yes,"hesaid;  ''go  on.' 

"I  was  sitting,  with  my  pipe.  He  stood  by  the  fire 
and  looked  down  at  me,  and  I  could  see  by  the  shine 
of  his  teeth  that  he  was  smiling.  But  when  he  spoke, 
it  was  like  his  song — ^just  noises,  no  speech  at  all.  It 
was  then  that  I  began  to  doubt  him.  But  I  gave  him 
greeting,  and  moved  thai  he  might  sit  down  and  smoke 
with  me.  He  listened  and  shook  his  head  gently,  and 
spoke  again  with  his  slow  soft  voice  in  his  language  of 
the  mad." 

"What  did  it  sound  like?"  demanded  Paul. 

"Baas,  it  sounded  like  English,"  replied  the  shep- 
herd. "Yes,  there  are  many  Kafirs  who  speak  English; 
the  dorps  are  noisy  with  them ;  but  there  are  none  who 

6 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

do  not  speak  Kafir.  And  this  man  had  come  through 
the  night,  singing  in  his  strange  tongue,  going  straight 
forward  like  one  that  has  a  purpose.  I  and  my  fire 
stayed  him  only  for  a  minute;  he  was  not  one  of  us; 
he  stood,  with  his  head  on  one  side,  smiling  down,  while 
I  began  to  feel  fear  and  ill-ease.  I  had  it  in  my  mind 
that  this  was  a  ghost,  but  of  a  sudden  he  stooped  to 
where  my  bread  lay — I  had  newly  eaten  my  supper, 
and  the  things  still  lay  about — and  took  a  piece  as 
large  as  this  fist.  He  seemed  to  ask  for  it,  but  I  could 
not  understand  him.  Then  he  laughed  and  tossed  some- 
thing into  my  lap,  and  turned  again  to  the  night  and 
the  long  shadows  and  the  things  that  belong  there.  His 
feet  moved  among  the  stones  and  he  was  gone;  and 
later  I  heard  him  singing  again  in  the  distance,  till  his 
voice  dwindled  and  was  lost. ' ' 

**He  threw  you  something,"  said  the  boy.  *'What 
was  it?" 

The  old  shepherd  nodded.  *'I  will  show  the  baas," 
he  said,  and  made  search  among  precarious  pockets. 
'*This  is  it;  I  have  not  spent  it." 

It  was  a  shilling,  looking  no  larger  than  sixpence  on 
the  flat  of  his  great  horny  palm.  Paul  looked  at  it  and 
turned  it  over,  sensible  that  something  was  lacking  in 
it,  since  it  differed  in  no  respect  from  any  other  shilling. 
The  magic  of  madness  and  the  stolid  massiveness  of 
Queen  Victoria 's  effigy  were  not  easy  to  reconcile. 

**It  looks  like  a  good  one,"  he  commented. 

**It  is  good,"  said  the  shepherd.  *'But — "  he 
paused  ere  he  put  it  in  its  true  light — *'the  bread  was 
not  more  than  a  pennyworth. '  * 

A  hundred  yards  away  the  waiting  sheep  discharged 
a  small  volley  of  bleats.     Paul  raised  his  head. 

7 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

*'Yes/'  he  said,  'Hhe  veld  is  full  of  wonderful 
things.  But  I  would  like  to  hear  that  language  of  the 
mad/' 

He  nodded  in  token  of  dismissal  and  walked  slowly 
on  towards  the  dam,  where  the  scarlet  of  the  sky  had 
changed  the  water  to  blood.  The  old  shepherd  picked 
up  his  sticks  and  went  heavily  after  the  sheep,  a  gro- 
tesque and  laborious  figure  in  that  wonder  of  evening 
light.  The  smooth  dog  slunk  towards  him,  snuffling 
in  welcome;  the  Kafir  dog  is  not  a  demonstrative  ani- 
mal, and  his  snuffle  meant  much.  The  shepherd  hit 
him  with  the  longest  of  the  wire-bound  sticks. 
.     '*Hup!'' he  grunted.     ''Get  on!" 

At  the  top  of  the  dam  wall,  the  sloping  bank  of 
earth  and  stones  that  held  the  water,  Paul  paused  to 
watch  them  pass  into  the  shifting  distance,  ere  he  went 
to  his  concerns  at  the  foot  of  it.  He  could  not  have  put 
a  name  to  the  quality  in  them  which  stirred  him  and 
held  him  gazing,  for  beauty  is  older  than  speech;  but 
words  were  not  needful  to  flavor  the  far  prospect  of 
even  land,  with  the  sheep  moving  across  it,  the  squat, 
swart  shape  of  the  shepherd  pacing  at  their  heels,  and  the 
strange,  soft  light  making  the  whole  unreal  and  mysteri- 
ous. 

Below  the  dam  wall,  the  moisture  oozing  through 
had  made  a  space  of  rank  grass  and  trailing  weed- 
vines,  and  the  ground  underfoot  was  cool  and  damp 
through  the  longest  day  of  sun.  Here  one  might  sit 
in  the  odor  of  water  and  watch  the  wind  lift  tall  spirals 
of  dust  and  chase  them  over  the  monotonous  miles  where 
the  very  bushes  rustled  like  dead  boughs  at  their 
passage.  It  had  the  quality  of  a  heritage,  a  place 
where  one  may  be  aloof  and  yet  keep  an  eye  on  the 

8 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

world,  and  since  there  were  no  others  who  needed  elbow- 
room  for  their  dreams,  Paul  had  it  to  himself.  Here 
and  there  about  the  sloping  bank,  as  on  the  walls  of 
a  gallery,  his  handiwork  cracked  and  crumbled  in  the 
sun — ^little  masks  and  figures  of  red  clay  which  he 
fashioned  to  hold  some  shape  that  had  caught  his  eye 
and  stayed  in  it.  He  had  an  instinct  for  the  momentary 
attitude,  the  quick,  unconscious  pose  which  is  life,  the 
bunched  compact  shape  of  a  sheep  grazing,  the  poise 
of  a  Kafir  girl  with  a  load  on  her  head,  a  figure  re- 
vealed in  wind-blown  clothes  and  lost  in  a  flash.  The 
sweet,  pliant  clay  was  his  confidant;  it  was  not  the 
fault  of  the  clay  that  he  could  tell  it  so  much  less  than 
he  knew. 

He  groped,  kneeling,  below  a  vine,  and  brought  out 
the  thing  he  had  hidden  there  the  evening  before  when 
the  light  failed  him.  A  flattened  stone  at  the  foot  of 
the  wall  was  his  table ;  he  set  the  clay  down  tenderly  and 
squatted  beside  it,  with  his  back  to  the  veld  and  all  the 
world.  It  was  to  be  the  head  of  a  negro,  the  negro  as 
Paul  knew  him,  and  already  the  clay  had  shape.  The 
shallow  round  of  the  skull  was  achieved;  he  had  been 
feeling,  darkly,  gropingly,  for  the  brutal  angle  of  the 
brows  that  should  brood  like  a  cloud  over  the  whole  coun- 
tenance. It  had  evaded  him  and  baffled  him;  he  knew 
how  it  should  be,  but  when  the  time  had  come  for  him 
to  leave  it  for  the  night,  the  brows  still  cocked  them- 
selves in  a  suggestion  of  imbecility  which  was  heart- 
breaking. He  turned  it  round,  frowning  a  little  as  his 
habit  was  when  he  centered  his  faculties  upon  a  matter ; 
the  chaos  of  the  featureless  face  below  the  smooth  head 
fronted  him. 

*^Allemachtag!"  he  cried  aloud,  as  he  set  eyes  on  it. 

9 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

There  was  no  possibility  that  he  could  be  mistaken; 
he  remembered,  in  their  smallest  exasperating  detail, 
those  brows  as  he  had  left  them,  taunting  him  as  bad 
work  will.  Even  now,  he  had  but  to  close  his  eyes 
and  he  could  see  them,  absurd  and  clamorous  for  cor- 
rection. But — he  stared  dumbly  at  the  clay  as  he 
realized  it — since  then  another  creator  had  played  with 
it,  or  else  the  thing,  left  to  itself,  had  frowned.  The 
rampart  of  the  brows  had  deepened  above  the  empty 
face;  Paul  knew  in  it  the  darkness  for  which  he  had 
sought,  the  age-old  patience  quenching  the  spark  of  the 
soul.  It  was  as  different  from  what  he  had  left  as 
living  flesh  is  from  red  clay,  an  inconsequent  miracle. 

*' Somebody, ' '  said  Paul,  pondering  over  it — ^'some- 
body knows!'' 

The  thing  troubled  him  a  little  while,  but  he  passed 
his  hand  over  the  clay,  to  make  yet  more  sure  of  it, 
and  the  cool  invitation  of  its  softness  was  medicine  for 
his  wonder.  He  smudged  the  clay  to  a  ridge  in  the 
place  where  the  nose  should  be,  and  then,  forgetting 
forthwith  that  he  was  the  victim  of  a  practical  joke, 
as  it  seemed,  played  upon  him  by  the  powers  of  the  air, 
he  fell  to  work. 

The  colors  in  the  west  were  burning  low  when  he 
raised  his  head,  disturbed  by  a  far  sound  that  forced 
itself  on  his  ear.  It  was  like  a  pulse  in  the  air,  a  dull 
rhythmical  throb  faintly  resonant  like  the  beating  of 
some  great  heart.  He  came  to  consciousness  of  it 
slowly,  withdrawing  himself  unwillingly  from  the  work 
under  his  hands,  and  noting  with  surprise  that  the 
evening  light  was  all  but  gone.  But  the  face  of  the 
negro  was  a  step  nearer  completion,  and  even  the  out- 
line of  the  gross  mouth  was  there  to  aid  the  clay  to 

10 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

return  his  look.  The  far  sound  insisted;  he  lifted  his 
head  with  mild  impatience  to  listen  to  it,  sighed,  and 
tucked  the .  unfinished  head  away  in  its  hidingplace. 
Perhaps  another  night  would  draw  out  the  mouth  to  its 
destined  shape  of  empty,  pitiful  mirth. 

The  beat  of  the  gourd-drum  that  hung  at  the  farm- 
house door  still  called,  and  he  hastened  his  steps  along 
the  homeward  path.  It  was  the  common  manner  of 
summons  on  the  farm.  For  the  European  ear,  the 
gourd  sawed  across,  with  a  skin  stretched  over  it,  is 
empty  of  music,  but  it  has  the  quality  of  sowing  its 
flat  voice  over  many  miles,  threading  through  the  voices 
of  nature  as  a  snake  goes  through  grass.  Simple 
variants  in  the  rhythm  of  the  strokes  adapt  it  to  mes- 
sages, and  now  it  was  calling  Paul.  **Paul,  Paul, 
P-P-Paul!*'  it  thrilled,  and  its  summons  was  as  plain 
as  words.  To  silence  it,  he  put  fingers  to  his  mouth 
and  answered  with  a  shrill,  rending  whistle.  The 
gourd  was  silent. 

His  mother  was  in  the  doorway  as  he  came  through 
the  kraals;  she  heard  his  steps  and  called  to  him. 

**Paul!     That  you?    Where  you  bin  all  this  time?'' 

**By  the  dam,''  he  answered. 

**I  been  callin'  you  this  half  hour,"  she  said.  *'Mrs. 
Jakes  is  here — she  wants  you. ' ' 

The  light  from  within  the  house  showed  her  as  a 
thin  woman,  with  the  shape  of  youth  yet  upon  her. 
But  the  years  had  taken  tribute  of  her  freshness,  and 
her  small,  rather  vacant  face  was  worn  and  faded. 
She  wore  her  hair  coiled  upon  her  head  in  a  way  to 
frame  the  thin  oval  of  the  face,  and  there  remained 
to  her  yet  the  slight  prettiness  of  sharp  weak  gestures 
and  little  conscious  attitudes.     In  her  voice  there  sur- 

11 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

vived  the  clipped  accent  of  London;  Paul  had  come  to 
know  it  as  the  thing  that  distinguished  his  mother  from 
other  women.  Before  her  marriage  she  had  been  an 
actress  of  the  obscure  sort  to  be  found  in  the  lesser 
touring  companies,  and  it  was  when  the  enterprise  of 
which  she  was  a  member  had  broken  down  at  the  town 
of  Fereira  that  she  met  and  married  the  Boer, 
Christian  du  Preez,  Paul's  father.  She  preserved  from 
the  old  days  a  stock  of  photographs  inscribed  in  dash- 
ing hands — ^' yours  to  the  dregs" — ''your  old  pal" — 
*' yours  ever  most  sincerely" — and  so  on  a  few  cuttings 
from  newspapers — **Miss  Vivie  Sinclair  as  Gertie 
Gottem  was  most  unique,"  said  the  Dopfontein  Cour- 
ant — a  touch  of  raucousness  in  her  voice,  and  a  cease- 
less weary  longing  for  the  easy  sham  life,  the  foolish 
cheerful  companions,  the  stimulus  of  the  daily  pub- 
licity. 

She  drew  the  boy  in,  sliding  her  arm  through  his, 
to  where  Mrs.  Jakes  sat  waiting. 

*'Here  he  is  at  last,"  she  said,  looking  up  at  him  pret- 
tily. She  often  said  she  was  glad  her  boy  was  tall 
enough  to  go  into  a  picture,  but  a  mother  must  admire 
her  son  for  one  thing  or  another. 

Mrs.  Jakes  acknowledged  Paul's  arrival  with  a  lady- 
like little  smile.  *^ Better  late  than  never,"  she  pro- 
nounced. 

She  was  the  wife  of  the  doctor  at  the  Sanatorium, 
the  old  Dutch  house  that  showed  its  steep  roofs  within 
a  couple  of  miles  of  the  farm,  where  came  in  twos  and 
threes  the  consumptives  from  England,  to  miend  their 
broken  lungs  in  the  clean  air  of  the  Karoo.  They 
came  not  quite  so  frequently  nowadays,  for  a  few  that 
returned  healed,  or  believing  themselves  to  be  healed, 

12 


FLOWER  0^  THE  PEACH 

had  added  to  their  travel-sketches  of  the  wonderful  old 
house  and  its  surroundings  an  account  of  Dr.  Jakes 
and  his  growing  habit  of  withdrawing  from  his  duties 
to  devote  himself  to  drink.  Their  tales  commonly 
omitted  to  describe  justly  the  anxious,  lonely  woman 
who  labored  at  such  times  to  supply  his  place,  driv- 
ing herself  to  contrive  and  arrange  to  keep  the  life 
of  the  house  moving  in  its  course,  to  maintain  an  as- 
sured countenance,  and  all  the  while  to  screen  him 
from  public  shame  and  ruin.  She  was  a  wan  little 
woman,  clinging  almost  with  desperation  to  those  trivial 
mannerisms  and  fashions  of  speech  which  in  certain 
worlds  distinguished  the  lady  from  the  mere  person. 
She  had  lain  of  nights  beside  a  drunken  husband,  she 
had  fought  with  him  when  he  would  have  gone  out  to 
make  a  show  of  his  staggering  gait  and  blurred  speech 
— horrible  silent  battles  in  a  candle-lit  room,  ending 
in  a  gasping  fall  and  sickness — she  had  lied  and  cheated 
to  hide  the  sorry  truth,  she  had  bared  her  soul  in 
gratitude  to  her  kind  God  that  her  child  had  died.  These 
things  as  a  matter  of  course,  as  women  accept  and  be- 
little their  martyrdom;  but  never  in  her  life  had  she 
left  the  spoon  standing  in  her  tea-cup  or  mislaid  her 
handkerchief.  The  true  standards  of  her  life  were 
still  inviolate. 

She  liked  Paul  because  he  was  shy  and  gentle,  but 
not  well  enough  to  talk  to  him  without  mentioning  the 
weather  first. 

'*The  evenings  are  drawing  out  nicely,''  she  re- 
marked, leaning  to  one  side  in  her  chair  to  see  through 
the  door  the  darkness  growing  dense  upon  the  veld. 
**It  reminds  me  a  little  of  a  June  evening  in  England 
— ^if  only  the  rain  holds  off. ' ' 

13 


FLOWER  O'  THE  PEACH 

**Yes/*  said  Paul.  There  would  be  rain  in  the  ordi- 
nary course  in  three  months  or  so,  if  all  went  well,  but 
it  was  not  worth  while  to  go  into  the  matter  with  Mrs. 
Jakes. 

*'We  are  to  have  another  guest/'  the  lady  went  on. 
The  doctor's  patients  were  always  *' guests"  when  she 
spoke  of  them.  *'A  young  lady  this  time.  And  that 
is  what  I  came  about,  really." 

*'Mrs.  Jakes  wants  you  to  go  in  to  the  station  with 
the  Cape-cart  and  fetch  her  out,  Paul,"  explained  his 
mother.  * '  You  11  'ave  the  first  look  at  her.  Mrs.  Jakes 
takes  her  oath  she  is  young. ' ' 

Mrs.  Jakes  shuddered  faintly,  and  looked  at  the 
floor. 

*' About  twenty-six,  I  understand,"  she  said.  ** About 
that."  Her  tone  reproached  Mrs.  du  Preez  for  a  lapse 
of  good  manners.  Mrs.  Jakes  did  not  understand  the 
sprightliness  of  mild  misstatement.  She  turned  to 
Paul. 

*'If  you  could  manage  it,"  she  suggested.  "If  it 
wouldn't  be  too  much  trouble!  The  doctor,  I  'm  sorry 
to  say,  has  a  touch  of  the  sun;  he  is  subject,  you  know." 
Her  hands  clasped  nervously  in  her  lap,  and  her  face 
seemed  blind  as  she  beat  bravely  on.  **The  climate 
really  does  n  't  suit  him  at  all ;  he  can 't  stand  the  heat. 
I  've  begged  and  prayed  him  to  give  it  up  and  go  back 
to  private  practice  at  home.  But  he  considers  it  his 
duty  to  keep  on." 

''The  morning  train?"  asked  Paul. 

**It  is  early,"  lamented  Mrs.  Jakes.  *'But  we  should 
be  so  much  obliged. ' ' 

Paul  nodded.  ''All  right,"  he  said.  "I  will  bring 
her,  Mrs.  Jakes." 

14 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

There  are  transactions  consecrated  to  the  humorous 
point  of  view,  landmarks  in  the  history  of  laughter. 
Mrs.  du  Preez  honestly  believed  that  a  youth  and  a 
girl  alone  in  the  dawn  were  a  spectacle  essentially  mirth- 
ful. 

** Catch  him  missing  the  chance/'  she  said,  with  her 
slightly  jarring  laugh.  *'None  of  your  larks,  now, 
Paul !    Promise  you  '11  behave ! ' ' 

**Yes,  mother,"  Paul  promised  gravely,  and  her  face 
went  blank  before  the  clear  eyes  he  turned  upon  her. 
Mrs.  Jakes  in  her  chair  rustled  her  stiff  dress  in  a 
wriggle  of  approval. 

**Miss  Harding  is  the  name,"  she  told  Paul.  '*You  '11 
manage  to  find  her?  I  don't  know  at  all  what  she  's 
like,  but  she  comes  of  a  very  good  family,  I  believe. 
You  can't  mistake  her." 

**Paul  knows  the  look  of  the  lungy  ones  by  now," 
Mrs.  du  Preez  assured  her.  ** Don't  you,  Paul?  It 's 
lungs,  of  course,  Mrs.  Jakes  ? ' ' 

** Chest  trouble,"  corrected  Mrs.  Jakes,  nervously. 
She  preferred  the  less  exact  phrase,  for  there  is  indeli- 
cacy in  localising  diseases,  and  from  the  lungs  to  the 
bowels  it  is  but  a  step.  **  Chest  trouble,  a  slight  at- 
tack. Fortunately,  Miss  Harding  is  taking  it  in  time. 
The  doctor  lays  stress  on  the  necessity  for  taking  it  in 
time." 

**Well,"  said  Mrs.  du  Preez,  **  whatever  it  is,  she  '11 
'ave  the  fashions.  Lungs  or  liver,  they  've  got  to 
dress,  and  it  '11  be  something  to  see  a  frock  again. 
She  's  from  London,  you  said?" 

Mrs.  Jakes  rearranged  her  black  skirts  which  had 
suffered  by  implication,  and  suppressed  an  impulse  to 
reply  that  she  had  not  said  London. 

15 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

**The  address  is  Kensington,"  she  answered.  *' Very- 
good  people  live  in  Kensington." 

** There  's  shops  there,  at  any  rate,"  said  Mrs.  du 
Preez.  ''Lord,  don't  I  remember  /em!  I  had  lodg- 
ings at  Hammersmith  once  myself,  and  an  aunt  in  the 
High  Street.  There  's  not  much  you  can  tell  me  about 
that  part. ' ' 

She  nodded  a  challenge  to  Mrs.  Jakes,  who  shrank 
from  it. 

"Then  I  can  tell  the  doctor  that  you  '11  meet  Miss 
Harding?"  Mrs.  Jakes  asked  Paul.  *'He  will  be  so 
obliged.  You  see,  he  'd  go  himself,  only — you  quite 
see?     Then  I  '11  expect  Miss  Harding  for  breakfast." 

She  rose  and  shook  herself,  the  gentle  expert  shake 
that  settles  a  woman's  clothes  into  their  place,  and 
tendered  him  a  vague,  black-gloved  hand.  Gloves  were 
among  her  defenses  against  the  crudities  of  the  Karoo. 
She  was  prim  in  the  lamp-light,  and  extraordinarily 
detached  from  the  little  uncomfortable  room,  with  its 
pale  old  photographs  of  forgotten  actors  staring  down 
from  wall  and  mantel. 

*'She  may  as  well  see  you  first,"  she  said,  and  smiled 
at  him  as  though  there  were  an  understanding  between 
them. 


16 


CHAPTER  II 

AT  three  o'clock  in  the  morning  it  was  still  dark, 
though  in  the  east,  low  down  and  gradual,  there 
paled  an  apprehension  of  the  dawn.  From  the  driving- 
seat  of  the  high  two-wheeled  cart,  Paul  looked  for- 
ward over  the  heads  of  his  horses  to  where  the  station 
lights  were  blurred  like  a  luminous  bead  on  the 
thread  of  railway  that  sliced  without  a  curve  from 
sky  to  sky.  It  was  the  humblest  of  halting  places,  with 
no  town  at  its  back  to  feed  the  big  trains;  it  owed 
its  existence  frankly  to  a  gaunt  water-tank  for  the 
refreshment  of  engines.  But  for  Paul  it  had  the  sig- 
nificance of  a  threshold.  He  could  lose  himself  in  the 
crowding  impressions  of  a  train's  arrival,  as  it  broad- 
ened and  grew  out  of  the  distance  and  bore  down  be- 
tween the  narrow  platforms,  immense  and  portentous, 
and  thudded  to  a  standstill  as  though  impatient  of  the 
trivial  delay.  The  smell  of  it,  the  dull  shine  of  glass 
and  varnish,  were  linked  in  his  mind  with  the  names 
of  strange,  distant  cities;  it  was  freighted  with  the 
romance  of  far  travel.  There  were  glimpses  of  cush- 
ioned interiors,  and  tired  faces  that  looked  from  the 
windows,  giving  a  perfunctory  glance  to  the  Karoo 
which  Paul  knew  as  the  world.  And  once  he  had 
watched  four  men,  with  a  little  folding  table  cramped 
between  their  knees,  playing  cards,  low- voiced,  alert, 
each  dark  predatory  face  marked  with  an  impassivity 
that  was  like  the  sheath  that  hides  a  blade.  He  stared 
a  17 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

at  them  fascinated;  not  once  did  they  raise  their  eyes 
to  glance  through  the  window,  nor  for  an  instant  did 
one  of  them  slacken  his  profound  attention.  Ahead,  at 
the  platform's  end,  the  great  engine  whined  like  a 
child  that  gropes  for  the  breast,  till  the  feed-hose  con- 
tented it  and  its  gurgle-gurgle  succeeded  to  the  thin 
wail  of  the  steam.  The  Kafir  orange  woman  made 
melodious  offers  of  naartjes  and  a  hammer  clinked 
critically  along  the  wheels.  It  was  the  live  season  of 
the  day,  the  poignant  moment,  its  amends  for  the  slow 
empty  hours.  But  the  men  about  the  table  had  graver 
concerns.  The  feed-hose  splashed  back  out  of  the  way, 
the  guard  shouted,  the  brakes  whanged  loose.  The 
long  train  jolted  and  slid,  and  still  they  had  not  looked 
up.  Paul  could  not  leave  them;  he  even  ran  along  the 
platform  till  their  window  distanced  him,  and  then 
stopped,  panting,  to  watch  the  tail  of  the  train  sink  to 
the  horizon.  He  had  seen  the  Jew  in  earnest  and  it 
left  him  daunted. 

''They  wouldn't  even  look,"  he  was  saying,  as  he 
went  back  to  his  cart.  ''They  wouldn't  even  look." 
It  served  as  a  revelation  to  one  who  looked  so  much  and 
so  fervently. 

The  other  train,  which  came  and  went  before  the 
daylight,  had  its  equal  quality  of  a  swift,  brief  visitor, 
and  the  further  mystery  of  windows  lighted  dimly 
through  drawn  curtains,  whereon  surprising  shadow 
heads  would  dawn  and  vanish  in  abrupt  motion.  It  was 
strange  to  stand  beside  one  and  hear  from  within  the 
crying  of  an  infant  and  the  soothing  of  a  mother, 
both  invisible,  arriving  from  the  void  on  one  hand 
and  bound  for  the  void  on  the  other,  with  the  Karoo 
not   even   an   incident   in   their   passage.    Paul   won- 

18 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

dered  whether  one  day  that  infant  might  not  pass 
through  again,  with  trousers  and  a  mustache  and  a 
cigar,  and  another  trouble  to  perturb  him  and  cards 
and  partners  to  do  the  soothing. 

He  arrived  well  in  advance  of  the  time  of  the  train, 
and  tied  his  docile  horses  to  the  hitching  rail  beside 
the  road.  Within  the  station  there  was  the  usual  ex- 
pectant group  under  the  dim  lamps,  the  two  or  three 
men  who  attended  to  the  tank,  a  Cape  Mounted  Police- 
man, spurred  and  trim,  and  a  few  others,  besides  the 
half-dozen  or  so  mute  and  timid  Kafirs  who  lounged 
at  the  end  of  the  platform.  The  white  men  talked  to- 
gether and  shivered  at  the  cold  of  the  night;  only  the 
Cape  Policeman,  secure  in  his  uniform  great-coat,  stood 
with  legs  astraddle  and  his  whip  held  behind  his  back, 
a  model  of  correct  military  demeanor  in  the  small 
hours.  Paul  noted  the  aggressive  beauty  of  his  atti- 
tude and  his  fine  young  virility,  and  stared  somewhat 
till  the  armed  man  noticed  it. 

*'Well,  young  feller,''  he  drawled.  **You  haven't 
fallen  in  love  with  me,  have  you  ? ' ' 

'*No,"  answered  Paul,  astonished. 

Two  or  three  of  the  bystanders  laughed,  and  made 
him  uncomfortable.  He  did  not  fully  understand  why 
he  had  been  spoken  to,  and  stared  at  his  questioner  a 
little  helplessly.  The  policeman  smacked  his  boot  with 
his  whip. 

**Nor  yet  me  with  you,"  he  said.  *'So  if  you  want 
to  stare,  go  and  stare  at  something  else.     See?" 

Paul  backed  away,  angry  and  shy,  and  moved  down 
the  platform  to  be  out  of  the  sound  of  their  voices. 
The  things  that  people  laughed  at  were  seldom  clear 
to  him;  it  seemed  that  he  had  been  left  out  of  some 

19 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

understanding  to  take  certain  things  as  funny  and 
laugh  at  them.  His  mother's  mirth,  breaking  start- 
lingly  out  of  unexpected  incidents,  out  of  words  spoken 
without  afterthought,  out  of  little  accidents  and  break- 
ages, always  puzzled  him.  It  was  as  little  to  be  under- 
stood as  her  tears,  when  she  would  sit  silent  through 
a  long  afternoon  of  stagnant  heat,  and  burst  suddenly 
into  weeping  when  some  one  spoke  to  her. 

He  came  to  a  standstill  at  the  point  where  the 
station  roof  ended  and  left  the  platform  bare  to  the  calm 
skies.  The  metals  gleamed  before  his  feet,  ranging 
out  to  the  veld  whence  the  train  would  come.  He 
listened  for  the  sound  of  it,  the  low  drum-note  so  like 
the  call  of  the  gourd-drum  at  the  farmhouse  door, 
which  would  herald  it  even  before  its  funnel  dragged 
its  glare  into  view.  There  was  nothing  to  be  heard, 
and  he  turned  to  the  Kafirs  behind  him,  and  spoke 
to  one  who  squatted  against  the  wall  apart  from  the 
rest. 

**Is  the  train  late?'*  he  asked,  in  the  ^'Kitchen 
Kafir'*  of  his  everyday  commerce  with  natives. 

The  black  man  raised  his  head  at  the  question,  but 
did  not  answer.    Paul  repeated  it  a  little  louder. 

The  native  held  his  head  as  if  he  listened  closely  or 
were  deaf.  Then  he  smiled,  his  white  teeth  gleaming 
in  the  black  circle  of  his  shadowed  face. 

'*I  'm  sorry,"  he  answered,  distinctly;  ''I  can't  un- 
derstand what  you  say.  You  11  have  to  speak  Eng- 
lish.'' 

It  was  the  voice  of  a  negro,  always  vaguely  musical, 
and  running  to  soft  full  tones,  but  there  was  a  note 
in  it  which  made  it  remarkable  and  unfamiliar,  some 
turn  which  suggested  (to  Paul,  at  any  rate)  that  this 

20 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

was  a  man  with  properties  even  stranger  than  his  speak- 
ing English.  He  thrilled  with  a  sense  of  adventure,  for 
this,  of  course,  was  the  mad  creature  of  the  shepherd's 
tale,  who  sang  to  himself  of  nights  when  the  moon 
rose  on  the  veld.  If  a  dog  had  answered  him  in  set 
phrases,  it  would  not  have  been  more  amazing  than 
to  hear  that  precise,  aptly  modulated  voice  reply  in 
easy  English  from  the  mouth  of  a  Kafir. 

**I — I  've  heard  of  you,'*  he  said,  stammering. 

'*Have  you?"  He  remembered  how  the  old  shepherd 
had  spoken  of  the  man's  smile.  He  was  smiling  now, 
looking  up  at  Paul. 

**You  Ve  heard  of  me — I  wonder  what  you  Ve 
heard.     And  I  've  seen  you,  too. ' ' 

''Where  did  you  see  me?  Who  are  you?"  asked 
Paul  quickly.  The  man  was  mad,  according  to  the 
shepherd,  but  Paul  was  not  very  clear  as  to  what  it 
meant  to  be  mad,  beyond  that  it  enabled  one  to  see 
things  unseen  by  the  sane. 

The  Kafir  turned  over,  and  rose  stiffly  to  his  feet, 
like  a  man  spent  with  fatigue. 

''They  '11  wonder  if  they  see  me  sitting  down  while 
I  talk  to  you,"  he  said,  with  a  motion  to  the  group 
about  the  Cape  Mounted  Policeman.  His  gesture 
made  a  confidant  of  Paul  and  enlisted  him,  as  it  were, 
in  a  conspiracy  to  keep  up  appearances.  It  was  pos- 
sible to  see  him  when  he  stood  on  his  feet,  a  young  man, 
as  tall  as  the  boy,  with  a  skin  of  warm  Kafir  black. 
But  the  face,  the  foolish,  tragic  mask  of  the  negro, 
shaped  for  gross,  easy  emotions,  blunted  on  the  grind- 
stone of  the  races  of  mankind,  was  almost  unexpected. 
Paul  stared  dumbly,  trying  to  link  it  on  some  plane  of 
reason  with  the  quiet,  schooled  voice. 

21 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

*'What  was  it  you  were  asking  me?''  the  Kafir  in- 
quired. 

But  Paul  had  forgotten.  ''Don't  you  speak  anything 
but  English?"  he  demanded  now. 

The  Kafir  smiled  again.  ''A  little  French,"  he  re- 
plied. ** Nothing  to  speak  of."  He  saw  that  the  lad 
was  bewildered,  and  turned  grave  at  once.  ''Don't 
be  frightened,"  he  said  quickly.  "There  's  nothing  to 
be  frightened  of." 

Paul  shook  his  head.  "I  'm  not  frightened,"  he  an- 
swered slowly.  "It  's  not  that.  But — ^you  said  you 
had  seen  me  before?" 

"Yes,"  the  Kafir  nodded.  "One  evening  about  a 
fortnight  ago;  you  didn't  notice  me.  I  was  walking 
on  the  veld,  and  I  came  by  a  dam,  with  somebody  sitting 
under  the  wall  and  trying  to  model  in  clay, ' ' 

"Oh!"     Paul   was   suddenly   illuminated. 

"Yes.  I  'd  have  spoken  to  you  then,  only  you 
seemed  so  busy,"  said  the  Kafir.  "Besides,  I  didn't 
know  how  you  'd  take  it.  But  I  went  there  later  on 
and  had  a  look  at  the  things  you  'd  made.  That  's  how 
I  saw  you." 

"Then,"  said  Paul,  "it  was  you—'' 

"Hush!"  The  Kafir  touched  him  warningly  on  the 
arm,  for  the  Cape  Policeman  had  turned  at  his  raised 
voice  to  look  towards  them.  "Not  so  loud.  You  mean 
the  head?  Yes,  I  went  on  with  it  a  bit.  I  hope  you 
didn't  mind." 

"  No, "  replied  Paul.     "  I  did  n  't  mind.    No ! " 

His  mind  beat  helplessly  among  these  incongruities; 
only  one  thing  was  clear;  here  was  a  man  who  could 
shape  things  in  clay.  Upon  the  brink  of  that  world 
of  which  the  station  was  a  door,  he  had  encountered 

22 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

a  kindred  spirit.  The  thought  made  him  tremble;  it 
was  so  vital  a  matter  that  he  could  not  stay  to  consider 
that  the  spirit  was  caged  in  a  black  skin.  The  single 
fact  engrossed  him  to  the  exclusion  of  all  the  other 
factors  in  the  situation,  just  as  some  sight  about  the 
farm  would  strike  him  while  at  work,  and  hold  him, 
absorbed  and  forgetful  of  all  else,  till  either  its  inter- 
est was  exhausted  or  he  was  recalled  to  his  task  by 
a  shout  across  the  kraals. 

* '  I  did  n  't  mind  at  all, ' '  he  replied.  *  *  How  did  you  do 
it?     I  tried,  but  it  wouldn't  come." 

* '  You  were  n  't  quite  sure  what  you  were  trying  for, ' ' 
said  the  Kafir.     ' '  Was  n  't  that  it  T ' 

''Was  it?"  wondered  Paul. 

"I  think  so."  The  Kafir's  smile  shone  out  again. 
"Once  you  're  sure  what  you  mean  to  do,  it  's  easy. 
If  I  had  a  piece  of  clay,  I  'd  show  you.  There  's  a  way 
of  thumbing  it  up,  just  a  trick,  you  know — " 

"  I  'm  there  every  evening, ' '  said  Paul  eagerly.  ' '  But 
tell  me:  do  other  people  make  things  out  of  clay,  too 
— over  there?" 

His  arm  pointed  along  the  railway;  the  gesture  com- 
prehended sweepingly  the  cities  and  habitations  of  men. 
The  idea  that  there  was  a  science  of  fingering  clay,  that 
it  was  practised  and  studied,  excited  him  wildly. 

"Gently!"  warned  the  Kafir.  He  looked  at  the  boy 
curiously.  "Yes,"  he  said.  "Lots  of  people  do  it, 
and  lots  more  go  to  look  at  the  things  they  make  and 
talk  about  them.  People  pay  money  to  learn  to  do  it, 
and  there  are  great  schools  where  they  are  taught  to 
model — to  make  things,  you  know,  in  clay,  and  stone, 
and  bronze.  Did  you  think  it  was  all  done  behind  dam 
walls?" 

23 


FLOWER  0*  THE  PEACH 

Paul  breathed  deep.     '  ^  I  did  n  't  know, ' '  he  murmured. 

'*Do  you  know  Capetown?"  asked  the  other.  **No? 
It  doesn't  matter.  You  Ve  heard  of  Jan  van  Riebeck, 
though  r' 

As  it  happened,  Paul  had  heard  of  the  Surgeon  of  the 
Fleet  who  first  carried  dominion  to  the  shadow  of 
Table  Mountain. 

**Well,"  said  the  Kafir,  ''you  can  imagine  Jan  van 
Riebeck,  shaped  in  bronze,  standing  on  a  high  pedestal 
at  the  foot  of  a  great  street,  with  the  water  of  the  bay 
behind  him,  where  his  ships  used  to  float,  and  his 
strong  Dutch  face  lifted  to  look  up  to  Table  Mountain, 
as  it  was  when  he  landed?  Don't  think  of  the  bronze 
shape ;  think  of  the  man.  That 's  what  clay  is  for 
— to  make  things  like  that!'' 

**Yes,  yes.  That 's  what  it  's  for,"  cried  Paul. 
**But — I  never  saw  anything  like  that." 

** Plenty  of  time,"  said  the  other.  *'And  that 's  only 
one  of  the  things  to  see.     In  London — " 

**You  've  been  in  London?"  asked  Paul  quickly. 

' '  Yes, ' '  said  the  Kafir,  nodding.    ' '  Why  ? ' ' 

Paul  was  silent  for  a  space  of  seconds.  When  he  an- 
swered it  was  in  a  low  voice. 

*'I  've  seen  nothing,"  he  said.  ''I  can't  find  out 
those  ways  to  work  the  clay.  But — but  if  somebody 
would  just  show  me,  just  teach  me  those — ^those  tricks 
you  spoke  about — " 

**A11  right."  The  Kafir  patted  his  arm.  ''Under 
the  dam  wall,  eh?  In  the  evenings?  I  '11  come,  and 
then—" 

"What?"  said  Paul  eagerly,  for  he  had  broken  off 
abruptly. 

"The  train,"  said  the  Kafir,  pointing,  and  sighed. 

24 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

Paul  had  been  too  intent  in  talk  to  hear  it,  but  he 
could  see  now,  floating  against  the  distance,  the  bead 
of  light  which  grew  while  he  watched.  The  group 
further  down  the  platform  dissolved,  and  the  tank-men 
went  past  at  a  run  to  their  work.  A  voice  at  his  elbow 
made  Paul  turn  quickly.  It  was  the  Cape  Mounted 
Policeman. 

'*You  're  not  having  any  trouble  with  this  nigger, 
hey?''  he  demanded. 

*'No,"  said  Paul,  flushing.  The  Kafir  bit  off  a  smile 
and  stood  submissive,  with  an  eye  on  the  boy's  troubled 
face. 

**You  don't  want  to  let  them  get  fresh  with  you," 
said  the  policeman.  **I  've  been  keepin'  my  eye  on 
him  and  he  talks  too  much.  Have  you  finished  with 
him  now?" 

His  silver-headed  whip  came  out  from  behind  his 
back  ready  to  dismiss  the  negro  in  the  accepted  man- 
ner. Paul  trembled  and  took  a  step  v/hich  brought  him 
near  enough  to  seize  the  whip  if  it  should  flick  back 
for  the  cut. 

**Let  him  alone,"  he  said  wrathfuUy.  **Mind  your 
own  business." 

**Eh?"  the  policeman  was  astonished. 

*'You  let  him  alone,"  repeated  Paul,  bracing  himself 
nervously  for  combat,  and  ready  to  cry  because  he 
could  not  keep  from  trembling.  He  had  never  come 
to  blows  in  his  life,  but  he  meant  to  now.  The  police- 
man stared  at  him,  and  laughed  harshly. 

**He  's  a  friend  of  yours,  I  suppose,"  he  suggested, 
striving  for  a  monstrous  affront. 

''Yes,"  retorted  Paul  hotly,  *'he  is." 

For  a  moment  it  looked  as  though  the  policeman,  out- 

25 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

raged  in  the  deepest  recesses  of  his  nature,  would  burst 
a  blood  vessel  or  cry  for  help.  A  man  whose  prayer 
that  he  may  be  damned  is  granted  on  the  nail  could 
scarcely  have  looked  less  shocked.  He  recovered  him- 
self with  a  gulp. 

**0h,  he  is,  is  he?  A  friend  of  yours?  A  nigger!'' 
Then,  with  a  swelling  of  rage  he  dodged  PauPs  grasp- 
ing hand  and  swung  the  whip.     *'I  '11  teach  him  to — " 

He  came  to  a  stop,  open-mouthed.  The  Kafir  was 
gone.  He  had  slipped  away  unheard  while  they  quar- 
reled, and  the  effect  of  it  was  like  a  conjuring  trick. 
Even  Paul  gaped  at  the  place  where  he  had  been  and 
now  was  not. 

**Blimy!"  said  the  policeman,  reduced  to  an  ex- 
pression of  his  civilian  days,  and  vented  a  short  bark 
of  laughter.  **And  so,  young  feller,  he  's  a  friend  o* 
yours,  is  he?  Now,  lemme  give  you  just  a  word  of 
advice." 

His  young,  sun-roughened  face  was  almost  paternal 
for  a  moment,  and  Paul  shook  with  a  yearning  to 
murder  him,  to  do  anything  that  would  wipe  the  self- 
satisfaction  from  it.  He  sought  furiously  for  a  form 
of  anathema  that  would  shatter  the  man. 

**Go  tohell,"he  cried. 

**0h,  well,''  said  the  policeman,  tolerantly,  and  then 
the  train's  magnificent  uproar  of  arrival  gave  Paul 
an  opportunity  to  be  rid  of  him. 

In  the  complication  of  events  Paul  had  all  but  for- 
gotten his  duty  of  discovering  the  young  lady  with 
** chest  trouble,"  and  now  he  wondered  rather  dole- 
fully how  to  set  about  it.  He  stood  back  to  watch 
the  carriage  windows  flow  past.  Would  it  be  at  all 
possible  just  to  stand  where  he  was  and  shout  ''Miss 

26 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

Harding"  till  she  answered?  To  do  that  needed  some 
one  more  like  the  policeman  and  less  like  Paul;  the 
mere  thought  of  it  was  embarrassing.  The  alternative 
was,  to  wait  until  such  passengers  as  alighted — they 
would  not  be  many — had  taken  themselves  away,  and 
then  to  go  up  to  the  one  that  remained  and  say,  *'Is 
your  name  Miss  Harding,  if  you  please?"  But  sup- 
posing she  answered,  *  *  Mind  your  own  business ! ' ' 

The  train  settled  and  stood,  and  Paul  became  aware 
that  from  the  carriage  nearest  him  a  woman  was  look- 
ing forth,  with  her  face  in  the  full  light  of  a  lamp. 
The  inveterate  picture-seeker  in  him  suddenly  found 
her  engrossing,  as  she  leaned  a  little  forward,  lifting 
her  face  to  the  soft  meager  light,  and  framed  in  the 
varnished  wood  of  the  window.  It  was  a  pale  face,  with 
that  delicacy  and  luster  of  pallor  which  make  rose 
tints  seem  over-robust.  It  was  grave  and  composed ; 
there  was  something  there  which  the  boy,  in  his  inno- 
cence, found  at  once  inscrutable  and  pitiful,  like  the 
bravery  of  a  little  child.  Distinctly,  this  was  a  day 
of  surprises;  it  came  to  him  that  he  had  not  known 
that  the  world  had  women  like  this.  His  eyes,  always 
the  stronghold  of  dreams,  devoured  her,  unconscious 
that  she  was  returning  his  gaze.  Perhaps  to  her,  he 
also  was  a  source  of  surprise,  with  his  face  rapt  and 
vague,  his  slender  boyishness,  his  general  quality  of 
standing  always  a  little  aloof  from  his  surroundings. 
On  the  Karoo,  people  said  of  him  that  he  was  *' old- 
fashioned";  one  word  is  as  good  as  another  when 
folk  understand  each  other.  The  point  was  that  it  was 
necessary  to  find  some  term  to  set  Paul  apart  from 
themselves. 

He  saw  the  girl  was  making  preparations  to  leave 

27 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

the  carriage,  and  was  suddenly  inspired.  He  found 
the  handle  of  the  door  and  jerked  it  open,  and  there 
she  was  above  him,  and  looking  down.  She  wore  some 
kind  of  scent,  very  faint  and  elusive ;  he  was  conscious 
of  her  as  a  near  and  gentle  and  fragrant  personality. 

''I  hope,''  he  said,  letting  the  words  come,  **I 
hope  you  are  Miss  Harding?" 

The  girl  smiled.  It  had  been  prettily  spoken,  with 
the  accent  of  sincerity. 

**Yes,"  she  answered.  *^You  have  come  to  meet 
meV 

The  thing  about  her  to  which  Paul  could  put  no 
name  was  that  she  was  finished,  a  complete  and  per- 
fect product  of  a  special  life,  which,  whatever  its  de- 
fects and  shortcomings,  is  yet  able  to  put  a  polish  of 
considerable  wearing  qualities  on  its  practitioners. 
She  knew  her  effect;  her  education  had  revealed  it  to 
her  early;  she  was  aware  of  the  pale,  intent  figure  she 
cut,  and  her  appearance  of  enlightened  virginity.  The 
reverence  in  the  boy's  eyes  touched  her  and  warmed 
her  at  once;  it  was  a  charming  welcome  at  the  end  of 
that  night's  journey.  Paul's  guilelessness  had  served 
the  specious  ends  of  tact,  for  to  corroborate  a  woman's 
opinion  of  herself  is  the  sublime  compliment. 

He  received  the  lesser  luggage  which  she  handed 
down  to  him  and  then  she  came  down  herself,  and  one 
train,  at  least,  had  shed  its  marvel  upon  the  Karoo. 
She  was  not  less  wonderful  and  foreign  on  the  plat- 
form than  she  had  been  at  the  window;  the  Cape 
Policeman,  coming  past  again,  lost  his  military-man  air 
of  a  connoisseur  in  women  and  stiffened  to  a  strutting 
perfection  of  demeanor  at  sight  of  her.  South  Africa 
is  still  so  short  of  women  that  it  makes  the  most  of 

28 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

those  it  can  get,  both  as  goddesses  and  as  beasts  of 
burden.  Paul  was  free  of  the  evil  civilized  habit  of 
thinking  while  he  could  feel,  and  the  girl  had  to  de- 
spatch the  single  lanky  porter  for  her  baggage  her- 
self and  attend  to  having  it  stacked  at  the  back  of 
the  cart.  Then  she  was  beside  him,  with  the  poignant 
air  from  the  open  south  fresh  on  their  faces,  and  the 
empty  veld  before  them.  The  slow  dawn  was  sud- 
denly magical  and  the  stillness  was  the  hush  that  at- 
tends miracles. 

He  had  to  give  his  mind  to  steering  the  big  cart 
through  the  gateway  to  the  road,  and  it  was  here 
that  he  saw,  against  the  white  fence,  a  waiting  figure 
that  looked  up  and  was  silent.  He  bent  forward  and 
waved  his  hand,  but  the  Kafir  did  not  respond.  The 
girl  at  his  side  broke  silence  in  her  low  rich  voice. 

**That  was  a  native,  wasn't  it?"  she  asked. 

Paul  looked  at  her.  **It  was  a — a  friend  of  mine," 
he  answered  seriously.     **A  Kafir,  you  know." 

The  light  in  the  eastern  sky  had  grown  and  its  lower 
edge,  against  the  rim  of  the  earth,  was  tinged  with  a 
rose-and-bronze  presentiment  of  the  sunrise.  The 
Karoo  lay  under  a  twilight,  with  the  night  stripping 
from  its  face  like  a  veil  drawn  westwards  and  away. 
In  that  half-light,  its  spacious  level,  its  stillness,  its 
quality  of  a  desert,  were  enhanced;  its  few  and  little 
inequalities  were  smoothed  out  and  merged  in  one 
empty  flatness,  and  the  sky  stood  over  in  a  single 
arch,  sprinkled  with  stars  that  were  already  burning 
pale.  In  all  the  vast  expanse  before  them,  there  rose  no 
roof,  no  tree,  no  token  of  human  habitation;  the  eye 
that  wandered  forward,  returned,  like  the  dove  to  the 
Ark,  for  lack  of  a  resting-place.    It  was  a  world  at 

29 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

gaze,  brooding  grimly.  The  little  morning  wind,  which 
would  die  when  the  sun  rose  clear  of  the  horizon  and 
leave  the  veld  to  its  day-long  torpor  of  heat,  leaned 
upon  their  faces;  the  girl  raised  her  brows  against  it 
and  breathed  deeply  of  its  buoyancy. 

*'0h/'  she  said;  *Hhis  is  what  I  came  for.'' 

"The  air?"  Paul  glanced  sideways  at  her  clear 
profile  set  against  the  shadowy  morning.  **They  say  it 
is  good  for — for — " 

He  hesitated;  Mrs.  Jakes  had  managed  to  make  the 
word  difficult.     But  Miss  Harding  took  it  in  her  stride. 

**For  the  lungs?"  she  suggested  without  compunc- 
tion. **Yes,  I  'm  sure  it  is.  And  you  live  here  all  the 
time,  do  you?" 

**I  was  born  here,"  Paul  answered. 

**How  you  must  love  it,"  she  said,  and  met  his  eyes 
with  a  look  in  which  there  was  a  certain  curiosity.  * '  All 
this,  I  mean,"  she  explained.     Then:     "But  do  you?*' 

"Yes,"  he  answered.  "It  's — it  's  fine  to  look  at — if 
you  like  looking  at  things." 

It  was  not  all  that  he  desired  to  say,  for  he  was 
newly  eager  to  make  himself  clear  to  this  wonderful 
person  at  his  side,  and  he  felt  that  he  was  not  doing  him- 
self justice.  But  Miss  Harding  had  seen  inarticulate 
souls  before,  aching  to  be  confidential  and  to  make  rev- 
elations and  unable  to  run  their  trouble  into  a  mould 
of  speech.  They  were  not  uncommon  in  the  neighbor- 
hood of  her  address  in  Kensington.  She  smiled  her 
recognition  of  the  phenomenon.  "There  are  not  many 
kinds  of  men,  and  only  two  kinds  of  boy,"  she  said  to 
herself.     She  was  twenty-six,   and  she  knew. 

"Oh,  I,'\  she  answered.  "Yes,  I  like  looking  at 
things." 

30 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

Paul  nodded,  watching  his  horses.  *'I  was  sure  you 
did  when  I  saw  you  at  the  window,"  he  said.  He 
turned  to  her,  and  she  smiled  at  him,  interested  in  the 
strong  simplicity  with  which  he  spoke. 

**I  was  sure,"  he  repeated,  **and  yet  nobody  like  you 
ever  came  here  before,  ever.  They  always  went  on  in 
the  train.  I  used  to  wonder  if  one  of  them  would  never 
get  out,  but  they  never  did.  They  just  sat  still  by  the 
window,  with  their  faces  tired  and  sleepy,  and  went 
on  again." 

He  loosed  the  lash  of  his  whip,  and  it  made  lightning 
circles  over  the  off  horse,  and  the  tail  of  the  lash 
slapped  that  animal  reproachfully  on  the  neck.  Miss 
Harding  contented  herself  with  a  little  incoherent  noise 
of  general  sympathy.  **If  I  say  anything,"  she 
thought,  **I  '11  be  knocked  off  my  seat  with  a  compli- 
ment." 

But  Paul  had  only  wanted  to  tell  her ;  it  seemed  nec- 
essary that  she  should  know  something  of  her  value. 
That  done,  he  was  content  to  drive  on  in  dreaming  si- 
lence, while  the  pair  of  them  watched  the  veld  grow 
momentarily  lighter,  its  bare  earth,  the  very  hue  and 
texture  of  barrenness,  spreading  and  widening  before 
them  like  water  spilt  on  a  floor.  The  stronger  light 
that  showed  it  to  them  revealed  only  a  larger  vacancy, 
a  void  extending  where  the  darkness  had  stood  like  a 
presence.  Beside  the  cart,  and  no  more  than  a  dozen 
yards  away,  a  heavy  bird  suddenly  uttered  a  cry  and 
spouted  up  into  the  air,  with  laborious  wings,  flapping 
noisily.  It  rose  perhaps  thirty  feet,  with  an  appearance 
of  great  effort,  whistled  and  sank  again  forthwith,  The 
girl  laughed;  it  was  such  a  futile  performance. 

**What  was  that?"  she  asked. 

31 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

'*A  lark/'  was  the  answer,  and  Paul  turned  his  eyes 
to  the  east.     **Look!"  he  bade  her,  pointing. 

Over  the  horizon  which  was  like  a  black  bar,  set  rigid 
against  the  heavens,  stood  the  upper  edge  of  the  sun, 
naked  and  red, — a  fiery  eye,  cocked  arrogantly  over 
the  sky-line.  About  it,  the  very  air  seemed  flooded 
with  color,  and  the  veld  reflected  it  in  dull  gleams  of 
red. 

**And  there!''  said  Paul  again,  pointing  ahead. 

They  were  at  the  top  of  a  gentle  slope,  so  gradual  that 
it  had  made  no  break  in  the  flat  prospect  of  ten  min- 
utes ago,  and  before  them,  and  still  so  far  off  that  it 
had  the  appearance  of  a  delicate  and  elaborate  toy, 
stood  the  Sanatorium.  In  that  diamond  clearness  of 
air,  every  detail  of  it  was  apparent.  Its  beautiful  se- 
rene front,  crowned  by  old  Dutch  gables  mounting  in 
steps  to  the  height  of  the  rooftree,  faced  them,  frank 
and  fair,  over  the  shadowy  reticence  of  the  stone-pil- 
lared stoep.  Beyond  and  behind  it,  the  roof  of  the 
farm,  Paul's  home,  stood  in  a  dim  perspective. 

*'Is  that  it?"  asked  Miss  Harding.  ** Where  I  am 
going,  I  mean." 

*'Yes,"  said  Paul. 

**It  's  very  beautiful,"  she  said. 

He  smiled  contentedly.  *'I  was  sure  you  would  say 
that,"  he  replied.     '*I  am  so  glad  you  have  come  here." 

Miss  Harding  regarded  him  doubtfully,  but  decided 
that  no  rebuke  was  necessary. 

**Yes,"  she  said,  soberly.  *'It  ought  to  give  my 
lungs  a  chance." 

Paul  flicked  the  long  lash  towards  the  off  horse  again, 
and  spoke  no  more  till  he  brought  the  cart  to  a  stand- 
still at  the  foot  of  the  fan-shaped  flight  of  steps  that 

32 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

led  up  to  the  door  on  the  stoep.  The  big  house  was 
voiceless  and  its  windows  blank;  he  was  preparing  to 
call  out  when  the  front  door  opened,  uncovering  a  vista 
of  a  stone  corridor  within,  simple  and  splendid,  and 
there  emerged  Mrs.  Jakes  to  the  glory  of  the  new  day. 
She  crossed  the  stoep,  challenging  the  dignity  of  smooth 
cold  stone  with  her  little  black  figure  of  ceremony  and 
her  amiable,  empty  face  of  formal  welcome. 

**Miss  Harding?"  she  enquired.  *'I  scarcely  ex- 
pected you  so  early.     Isn't  it  charming  weather?'' 

Paul  helped  the  girl  to  alight,  and  watched  the  two 
women  as  they  stood,  before  entering  the  house,  and 
exchanged  perfunctory  civilities. 

**And  now,  to  see  your  room,'*  said  Mrs.  Jakes  at 
last,  and  let  her  pass.  *'Isn't  it  fortunate  that  the 
rain  has  held  off  so  nicely?" 

Her  small  voice  tinkled  indefatigably,  and  she  worked 
through  all  the  motions  of  hospitable  politeness.  But 
behind  her  smile  her  eyes  were  haggard  and  stale,  and 
Paul  thought  that  she  looked  at  the  girl,  as  they  went 
in,  with  the  very  hate  of  envy. 


33 


CHAPTER  III 

IN  the  years  of  his  innocence,  when  the  art  and 
practice  of  medicine  were  rich  with  enticements 
like  a  bride,  Dr.  Jakes  had  taken  his  dreams  in  hand  to 
mold  them  to  the  shape  of  his  desire.  A  vision  had 
beckoned  to  him  across  the  roofs  and  telegraph  wires 
of  South  London,  where  he  scuffled  for  a  livelihood  as 
the  assistant  of  a  general  practitioner;  and  when  he 
fixed  his  eyes  upon  it,  it  spread  and  took  shape  as  a 
great  quiet  house,  noble  and  gray,  harboring  within  its 
sober  walls  the  atmosphere  of  distinguished  repose 
which  goes  with  a  practice  of  the  very  highest  class. 
Nothing  of  all  its  sumptuous  appointment  was  quite  so 
clear  to  him  as  that  flavor  of  footfalls  muffled  and  voices 
subdued;  to  summon  it  was  to  establish  a  refuge  in 
which  he  might  have  brief  ease  between  a  tooth-drawing 
and  a  confinement.  Kindly  people  who  excused  a  cer- 
tain want  of  alacrity  in  the  little  doctor  by  the  reflec- 
tion that  he  was  called  out  every  night  might  have 
saved  their  charity;  his  droop,  his  vacancy  were  only 
a  screen  for  the  splendid  hush  and  shadow  of  that  great 
visionary  mansion.  It  was  peopled,  too,  with  many  dim 
folk,  resident  patients  in  attitudes  of  relaxation;  and 
among  them,  delicate  and  urbane,  went  Dr.  Jakes,  the 
sweet  and  polished  vehicle  of  healing  for  the  pulmo- 
nary complaints  of  the  well-bred.  Nor  was  there  lack- 
ing a  lady,  rather  ghostlike  and  faint  in  conformity  with 
the  dreamer's  ideal  of  the  highest  expression  of  a  lady- 

34 


FLOWER  O;  THE  PEACH 

like  quality,  but  touched,  none  the  less,  with  warm  fem- 
ininity, an  angel  and  a  houri  in  one,  and  answering,  in 
the  voice  of  refinement,  to  the  title  of  Mrs.  'Jakes. 

She  had  no  Christian  name  then ;  she  was  a  haunting 
mellowness,  a  presence  delicate  and  uplifting.  In  the 
murk  of  the  early  morning,  after  a  night  spent  behind 
drawn  blinds  in  a  narrow,  tragic  room,  where  another 
human  being  entered  the  world  between  his  hands,  he 
would  go  home  along  empty  furtive  streets,  conscious 
of  the  comfort  of  her  and  glad  as  with  wine,  and  in  such 
hours  he  would  make  it  clear  to  himself  that  she,  at  any 
rate,  should  never  bear  a  child. 

**No,''  he  would  say,  half  aloud  and  very  seriously. 
''No;  it 's  not  in  the  part.    No!'' 

That  gracious  and  mild  presence — he  did  not  entirely 
lose  it  even  when  its  place  was  assailed  by  the  advent 
of  the  timid  and  amiable  lady  whom  he  married.  She 
was  a  daughter  of  the  landed  interest ;  her  father  owned 
** weekly  property"  about  Clapham  Junction,  two  streets 
of  forlorn  little  houses,  which  rang  day  and  night  with 
the  passing  of  trains,  and  furnished  to  the  population  a 
constant  supply  of  unwelcome  babies.  Dr.  Jakes  knew 
the  value  of  property  of  that  kind,  and  perhaps  his 
knowledge  did  something  to  quicken  his  interest  in  a 
sallow,  meager  girl  whom  he  encountered  in  the  house 
of  his  employer.  She  brought  him  a  thousand  pounds 
in  money,  means  ready  to  his  hand  to  anchor  the  old 
vision  to  earth  and  run  it  on  commercial  lines ;  it  puz- 
zled him  a  little  that  the  vision  no  longer  responded 
to  his  summons  so  readily  as  of  old.  It  had  degener- 
ated from  an  inspiration  to  a  mere  scheme,  best  ex- 
pressed in  the  language  of  the  prospectus;  the  fine  zest 
of  it  was  gone  beyond  recovery.    There  was  no  recap- 

35 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

turing  its  gentle  languors,  the  brooding  silence  of  it; 
stiU  less  was  it  possible  when,  by  the  mere  momentum 
of  his  plans,  he  had  moved  to  South  Africa  and  found 
him  a  house,  to  reproduce  that  reposefulness  as  the  main 
character  of  the  establishment.  Such  effects  as  he 
gained,  during  the  brief  strenuousness  that  he  mani- 
fested on  taking  possession,  were  the  merest  caricatures 
of  the  splendid  original,  mocking  his  impotence.  The 
thousand  pounds,  too,  which  at  first  had  some  of  the 
fine,  vague,  inexhaustible  quality  of  a  dream,  proved  in- 
elastic, and  by  the  time  the  baby  came,  Dr.  Jakes  was 
already  buying  whisky  by  the  case.  The  baby  was  a 
brief  incident,  a  caller  rather  than  a  visitor,  so  ephem- 
eral that  it  was  scarcely  a  nuisance  before  it  departed 
again  in  search  of  a  peace  less  dependent  on  the  arrange- 
ment of  furniture  than  that  which  Dr.  Jakes  had  sought 
to  bring  into  being. 

All  life  is  a  compromise;  between  the  dream  and  the 
exigencies  of  Dr.  Jakes'  position  the  Sanatorium  had 
emerged.  The  fine,  simple,  old  house  had  an  air  of  its 
own,  which  no  base  use  could  entirely  destroy.  Its  flat 
front,  pedestaled  upon  a  wide,  flagged  stoep,  faced  to 
the  southeast  and  made  a  stronghold  of  shade  in  the 
noonday  vehemence  of  the  sun.  Its  rooms  were  great 
and  low,  with  wide  solemn  windows  regarding  the  mo- 
notony of  the  level  veld;  they  stood  between  straight 
corridors  where  one's  footsteps  rang  as  one  walked. 
The  art  of  its  builders  had  so  fashioned  it  that  it  stood 
on  the  naked  ground  like  a  thing  native  to  it,  not  in- 
terrupting nor  affronting  that  sweep  of  vacant  miles, 
but  enhancing  it.  The  stolid  Dutch  builders  knew  how 
to  make  their  profit  out  of  wide  horizons.  They  had 
conceived  a  frame  for  lives  which  should  ripen  in  face 

36 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

of  the  Karoo,  gleaming  on  its  barrenness  a  measure  of 
its  tranquillity.  They  built  a  home ;  and  of  it  Dr.  Jakes 
had  made  a  Home. 

There  remained  yet,  of  all  the  decorous  and  ceremonial 
processes  which  were  to  maintain  and  give  color  to  the 
life  of  the  Sanatorium  as  he  had  conceived  it  of  old, 
only  one  function.  The  two  men  patients  who  were 
left  to  him  did  as  they  pleased  in  most  respects,  but  if 
they  took  tea  in  the  afternoon  they  took  it  from  Mrs. 
Jakes  in  the  drawing-room  after  an  established  usage, 
with  formal  handing  to  and  fro  of  plates  and  cups  in 
the  manner  of  civilized  society.  Jakes  was  seldom  too 
unwell  to  be  present  at  this  function,  and  it  was  here, 
with  his  household  at  his  back,  that  Margaret  saw  him 
first. 

"Weariness  had  come  upon  her  with  the  rush  of  an 
overtaking  pursuer  as  Mrs.  Uakes  brought  her  into  the 
house  and  away  from  the  spreading  dawn,  and  that 
lady  had  cut  short  the  forms  of  politeness  to  bid  her 
go  to  bed.  She  woke  to  the  warmth  of  afternoon  and 
the  glow  of  its  sun  slanting  upon  the  floor  of  her  room 
and  was  aware  at  once  of  a  genial  presence.  At*  the 
window  a  tall,  stout  Kafir  woman,  her  head  bound  in  a 
red  and  yellow  handkerchief  in  a  fashion  which  re- 
minded Margaret  of  pictures  of  pirates,  was  tweaking 
the  tails  of  the  spring-blinds  and  taking  delight  in 
watching  them  run  up  with  a  whir  and  click.  She 
turned  at  the  sound  of  Margaret's  movement,  and 
flashed  a  brilliant  smile  upon  her. 

'* Missis  sleeping  too  long,"  she  observed.  **Tea 
now." 

The  mere  good  humor  of  her  was  infectious  and  Mar- 
garet smiled  in  return. 

37 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

'*Who  are  you?"  she  asked. 

''Me?  Fat  Mary/'  was  the  answer.  She  laughed 
easily,  willing  to  make  or  be  a  joke  according  to  Mar- 
garet's humor.  *'Fat  Mary,  because — "  she  sought  for 
a  word  in  the  unfamiliar  English  and  then  gave  it  up. 
''Because,"  she  repeated,  and  traced  her  ample  circum- 
ference with  a  black  finger.     ' '  You  see  ? " 

"I  see,"  said  Margaret,  and  prepared  to  get  up. 

Her  long  sleep  had  restored  her  and  there  was  com- 
fort, too,  in  waking  to  the  willing  humanity  of  Fat 
Mary's  smiles,  instead  of  to  the  starched  cuffs  and 
starched  countenance  of  some  formal  trained  and  me- 
chanical nurse.  Fat  Mary  was  not  a  deft  maid ;  she  was 
too  easily  amused  at  niceties  of  the  toilet,  and  Margaret 
could  not  help  feeling  that  she  regarded  the  process  of 
dressing  as  a  performance  which  she  could  discuss  later 
with  her  friends;  but  at  least  she  was  interested.  She 
revolved  helpfully  about  the  girl,  to  the  noise  of  bumped 
furniture  and  of  large  bare  feet  scraping  on  the  mats, 
like  a  bulky  planet  about  a  wan  and  diminutive  sun, 
and  made  mistakes  and  laughed  and  was  buoyant  and 
alight  with  smiles — all  with  a  suggestion  of  gentle  and 
reverent  playfulness  such  as  a  more  than  usually  grown 
person  might  use  with  a  child. 

"Too  much  clothes,"  was  her  final  comment,  when 
Margaret  at  last  was  ready  and  stood,  slim  and  sober, 
under  her  inspection.  "Like  bundles,"  she  added, 
thoughtfully.     "But  Missis  is  skinny." 

"Where  do  we  go  now?"  asked  Margaret. 

"Tea,"  replied  Fat  Mary,  and  led  the  way  down- 
stairs by  a  wide  and  noble  staircase  to  the  gray  shadows 
of  the  stone  hall.  There  was  a  simple  splendor  about 
the  house  which  roused  the  connoisseur  in  Margaret,  a 

38 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEA'CH 

grandeur  whicli  was  all  of  proportion  and  mass,  and 
the  few  articles  of  furniture  which  stood  about  were  dim 
and  shabby  in  contrast  to  it.  She  had  only  time  to 
note  so  much  when  Fat  Mary  opened  a  door  for  her,  and 
she  was  facing  across  a  wide  room  to  broad  windows 
flooded  with  sunlight  and  aware  of  Mrs.  Jakes  rising 
from  behind  a  little  tea-table  and  coming  forward  to 
meet  her.  Two  men,  a  young  one  and  an  old  one,  rose 
from  their  chairs  near  the  window  as  she  entered,  and  a 
third  was  standing  on  the  hearth-rug,  with  his  back  to 
the  empty  hearth. 

**  Quite  rested  nowT'  Mrs.  Jakes  was  asking. 
**You  Ve  had  a  nice  long  sleep.  Let  me  introduce  the 
doctor.     Eustace — this  is  Miss  Harding." 

Dr.  Jakes  advanced  from  the  hearth-rug;  Margaret 
thought  he  started  forward  rather  abruptly  as  his  name 
was  spoken.     He  gave  her  a  loose,  hot  hand. 

** Charmed,"  he  said  in  a  voice  that  was  not  quite 
free  from  hoarseness.  **We  were  just  out  of  ladies. 
Miss  Harding.  This  is  a  great  pleasure ;  a  great  pleas- 
ure." 

** Thank  you,"  murmured  Margaret  vaguely. 

He  was  a  short  plump  man,  with  a  big  head  and 
round  spectacles  that  gave  him  the  aspect  of  a  large,  de- 
liberate bird.  He  was  dressed  for  the  afternoon  in 
formal  black,  the  uniform  of  his  calling,  though  the 
window  framed  shimmering  vistas  of  heat.  He  peered 
up  at  her  with  a  sort  of  appeal  on  his  plump,  amiable 
face,  as  though  he  were  conscious  of  that  quality  in  him 
which  made  the  girl  shrink  involuntarily  while  he  held 
her  hand,  which  no  decent  austerity  of  broadcloth 
could  veil  from  her  scrutiny.  There  was  something 
about  him  at  once  sleepy  and  tormented,  the  state  in 

39 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

which  a  man  lies  all  day  full-dressed  upon  a  bed  and 
goes  habitually  unbuttoned.  It  was  the  salient  char- 
acter in  him,  and  he  seemed  to  search  her  face  in  a  faint 
hope  that  she  would  not  recognize  it.  He  dropped  her 
hand  with  a  momentary  knitting  of  his  brows  like  the 
ghost  of  despair,  and  talked  on. 

*'It  's  .the  air  we  depend  on,''  he  told  her.  ** Won- 
derful air  here,  Miss  Harding — the  breath  of  healing, 
you  know.  It  doesn't  suit  me,  but  then  I  'm  not  here 
for  my  health." 

He  laughed  uncertainly,  and  ceased  abruptly  when 
he  saw  that  no  one  laughed  with  him.  He  was  like  a 
child  in  disgrace  trying  to  win  and  conciliate  a  circle 
of  remorseless  elders. 

Mrs.  Jakes  interrupted  with  a  further  introduction. 
While  the  doctor  spoke,  she  had  been  standing  by  like 
an  umpire.  **Mr.  Ford,"  she  said  now,  and  the  younger 
of  the  two  men  by  the  window  bowed  to  her  without 
speaking  across  the  tea-table.  His  back  was  to  the  win- 
dow and  he  stood  silhouetted  against  the  golden  haze 
which  filled  it,  and  Margaret  saw  only  that  he  was  tall 
and  slender  and  moved  with  easy  deliberation. 

**Mr.  Samson,"  said  Mrs.  Jakes  next. 

This  was  the  elder  man.  He  came  forward  to  her, 
showing  a  thin,  sophisticated  old  face  with  cloudy  white 
eyebrows,  and  shook  hands  in  a  pronounced  manner. 

**Ah,  you  come  like  a  gleam  of  sunshine,"  he  an- 
nounced, in  a  thin  voice  that  was  like  a  piece  of  bra- 
vado. **  A  gleam  of  sunshine,  by  gad !  We  're  not  much 
to  look  at.  Miss  Harding;  a  set  of  crocks,  you  know — 
bellows  to  mend,  and  all  that  sort  of  thing,  but,  by  gad, 
we  're  English,  and  we  're  glad  to  see  a  countrywoman. ' ' 

He  cocked  his  white  head  at  her  gallantly  and  strad- 

40 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

died  his  legs  in  their  neat  gray  trousers  with  a  stiff 
swagger. 

**My  mother  was  Irish/'  observed  Mrs.  [Jakes  brightly. 
"But  Miss  Harding  must  have  some  tea.'' 

Mr.  Samson  skipped  before  to  draw  out  a  chair  for 
her,  and  Margaret  was  established  at  Mrs.  Jakes '  elbow. 
The  doctor  came  across  the  room  to  hand  her  bread  and 
butter;  that  done,  he  retired  again  to  his  place  on  the 
hearth-rug  and  to  his  cup,  lodged  upon  the  mantel- 
shelf. It  seemed  that  this  was  his  place,  outside  the 
circle  by  the  window. 

** Charming  weather  we  're  having,"  announced  Mrs. 
Jakes,  conscientiously  assailing  an  interval  of  silence. 
*af  it  only  lasts!" 

Mr.  Samson,  with  his  back  to  the  wall  and  his  teacup 
wavering  in  his  thin  hand,  snorted. 

*' Weather!"  he  said.  **Ya-as,  we  do  get  weather. 
'Bout  all  we  do  get  here, — eh,  Jakes?" 

Behind  Margaret's  back  the  doctor's  teaspoon  clinked 
in  his  saucer,  and  he  said  something  indistinct,  in  which 
the  words  "wonderful  air"  alone  reached  her.  She 
hitched  her  chair  a  pace  sideways,  so  as  to  see  him. 

Mrs.  Jakes  was  looking  over  her  with  the  acute  eyes 
of  a  shopper  which  took  in  and  estimated  each  detail 
of  her  raiment. 

"I  suppose,  now,"  she  remarked  thoughtfully,  "in 
England,  the  spring  fashions  were  just  coming  out." 

"I  don't  know,  really,"  Margaret  answered.  "When 
I  left,  the  principal  wear  seemed  to  be  umbrellas.  It 's 
been  an  awful  winter — rain  every  day." 

"Aha!"  Mr.  Samson  returned  to  the  charge. 
"Rain,  eh?  Cab-wheels  squirting  mud  at  you  all  along 
the  street,  eh?    Trees  blubbering  over  the  railings  like 

41 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

bally  babies,  eh?  Women  bunchin'  up  their  skirts  and 
hoppin'  over  the  puddles  like  dicky-birds,  eh?  I  know, 
I  know ;  don 't  I  just  know !  How  'd  you  like  a  mouth- 
ful of  that  air,  eh.  Ford?  Bad  for  the  lungs — yes! 
But  good,  deuced  good  for  the  heart/' 

The  young  man  in  the  window  raised  his  head  when 
he  was  addressed  and  nodded.  From  the  hearth-rug 
Dr.  Jakes  murmured  audibly:  *' Influenza. ' * 

'^That  of  course,''  said  Mrs.  Jakes  indulgently. 
*'Were  there  many  people  in  town.  Miss  Harding?" 

** People!"  Margaret  was  mystified  for  the  moment. 
**0h,  yes,  I  think  so."  ' 

She  was  puzzled  by  the  general  attitude  of  the  others 
towards  the  little  doctor ;  it  was  a  matter  into  which  she 
had  yet  to  be  initiated.  It  was  as  though  there  existed  a 
tacit  imderstanding  to  suffer  his  presence  and  keep 
an  eye  upon  him.  It  conveyed  to  her  a  sense  that  these 
people  knew  things  about  him  which  would  not  bear 
telling,  and  held  the  key  to  his  manner  of  one  dully 
afflicted.  When  he  moved  or  managed  to  make  some 
small  clatter  in  setting  his  cup  on  the  mantel-shelf,  Mrs. 
Jakes  turned  a  swift  eye  upon  him,  inspected  him  sus- 
piciously and  turned  away  again.  If  he  spoke,  the 
person  addressed  seemed  to  turn  his  remark  over  and 
examine  it  for  contraband  meanings  before  making  a 
perfunctory  answer.  He  was  like  a  prisoner  handi- 
capped by  previous  convictions  or  a  dog  conscious  of  a 
bad  name.  When  he  managed  to  catch  the  girl's  eye, 
he  gave  her  weak,  hopeful,  little  smiles,  and  subsided 
quickly  if  any  one  else  saw  him,  as  though  he  had 
been  caught  doing  some  forbidden  thing.  The  thing 
troubled  her  a  little.  Her  malady  had  made  a  sharp 
interruption  in  her  life  and  she  had  come  to  the  Karoo 

42 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

in  the  sure  hope  that  there  she  would  be  restored  and 
given  a  warrant  to  return  finally  to  her  own  world 
and  deal  with  it  unhampered.  The  doctors  who  had 
bidden  her  go  had  spoken  confidently  of  an  early  cure ; 
they  were  smooth  men  who  made  a  good  show  of  their 
expert  knowledge.  She  had  looked  to  find  such  a  man 
at  her  journey's  end,  a  doctor  with  the  marks  of  a  doc- 
tor, his  social  adroitness,  his  personal  strength  and 
style,  his  confidence  and  superiority  to  the  weaknesses 
of  diseased  flesh.  This  little  man,  dazed  and  dumb, 
standing  apart  like  a  child  who  has  been  put  in  the 
corner,  did  not  realize  her  expectations.  If  medical 
skill,  the  art  and  dexterity  of  a  physician,  dwelt  in  him, 
they  had,  she  reflected,  fallen  among  thieves. 

*'You  have  only  three  patients  here  now?"  she  asked 
Mrs.  Jakes. 

**At  present,''  answered  Mrs.  Jakes.  '^It  's  a  con- 
venient number.  The  doctor,  you  see,  can  give  them 
so  much  more  attention  than  if  there  were  a  houseful. 
Yes,  it 's  really  better  for  everybody.'' 

As  she  finished,  Margaret  looked  up  and  caught  the 
eye  of  the  young  man,  Ford,  fixed  upon  her,  as  though 
he  watched  to  see  how  she  would  take  it.  He  was  a  tall 
youth  with  a  dark  impassive  face  and  level  brows,  and 
his  malady  announced  itself  in  a  certain  delicacy  of 
coloring  and  general  texture  and  in  attitudes  which 
slacked  naturally  to  invalid  languors.  While  the  others 
talked,  he  sat  on  the  ledge  of  the  window,  looking  out 
to  the  veld  prostrate  under  the  thresh  of  the  sun.  In 
any  talkative  assembly,  the  silent  man  is  at  an  advan- 
tage, and  this  tall  youth  seemed  to  sit  without  the  little 
circle  of  desultory  tongues  and  dwarf  it  by  his  mere 
aloofness.    His  glance  now  seemed  to  convey  a  hint  to 


FLOWER  0^  THE  PEACH 

her  to  accept,  to  pass  over,  things  that  needed  explana- 
tion and  to  promise  revelations  at  a  more  fitting 
time. 

**You  see,''  Mrs.  Jakes  continued,  when  Margaret  had 
murmured  noises  of  acquiescence;  *'you  see,  each  pa- 
tient requires  his  individual  attention.  And — '*  she 
sank  her  voice  to  a  confidential  undertone — *'he  's  not 
strong." 

She  nodded  past  Margaret's  shoulder  at  'Jakes,  who 
was  drinking  from  his  cup  with  precautions  against 
noise.  He  caught  her  look  over  the  rim  of  it  and 
choked.  Ford  smiled  faintly  and  turned  to  the  window 
again. 

**The  Karoo  does  n't  suit  him  a  bit,"  Mrs.  Jakes  went 
on.  **Too  bracing,  you  know.  He  's  often  quite  ill. 
But  he  won't  leave." 

**Why?"  asked  Margaret.  The  doctor  was  busy  with 
his  handkerchief,  removing  the  traces  of  the  accident 
from  his  waistcoat. 

Mrs.  Jakes  looked  serious.  **Duty,"  she  replied,  and 
pursed  her  pale  lips.  **He  considers  it  his  duty  to  re- 
main here.     It  's  his  life-work,  you  know." 

Ford's  eye  caught  Margaret's  again,  warning  and  in- 
.viting.     **It  's — it 's  very  unselfish  of  him,"  she  said. 

* '  Yes ! "  said  Mrs.  Jakes.  ' '  It  is. "  And  she  nodded 
at  Margaret  as  much  as  to  ask,  **And  now,  what  have 
you  got  to  say?" 

The  doctor  managed  the  tea  stains  to  his  satisfaction 
and  came  across  the  room,  replacing  the  cup  and  saucer 
on  the  table  with  a  hand  that  was  not  quite  steady.  In 
the  broad  light  of  the  window,  he  had  a  strained  look; 
one  familiar  with  such  matters  would  have  known  that 
the  man  was  raw  and  tense  with  the  after  effects  of 

4A 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

heavy  drinking.  He  looked  down  at  Margaret  with  an 
uncertain  smile. 

**I  must  have  a  little  talk  with  Miss  Harding/'  he 
said.  **  We  must  find  out  how  matters  stand.  Will  you 
bring  her  to  my  study  presently,  my  dear?'' 

**In  a  quarter  of  an  hour?"  suggested  Mrs.  Jakes. 
He  nodded.  Ford  did  not  turn  from  his  idle  gazing 
through  the  window  and  old  Samson  did  not  cease  from 
looking  at  him  with  an  arrogant  fixity  that  seemed  on 
the  point  of  breaking  into  spoken  denunciations.  He 
looked  from  one  to  the  other  with  a  hardy  little  smile, 
then  sighed  and  went  out. 

His  going  was  the  signal  for  the  breaking  up  of  the 
gathering.  Old  Samson  coughed  and  walked  off  and 
Ford  disappeared  with  him. 

**And  what  would  you  care  to  do  now?"  asked  Mrs. 
jjakes  of  Margaret.  '*I  have  some  very  good  views  of 
Windsor,  if  you  like.    You  know  Windsor?" 

Margaret  shook  her  head.  Windsor  had  no  attrac- 
tions for  her.  What  interested  her  much  more  was 
the  fact  that  this  small,  bleak  woman  was  on  the  de- 
fensive, patently  standing  guard  over  privacies  of  her 
life,  and  acutely  ready  to  repel  boarders  who  might  en- 
deavor to  force  an  intimacy  upon  her.  It  was  plain 
in  the  rigor  of  her  countenance,  set  into  a  mask,  and  in 
each  tone  of  her  voice.  Margaret  had  yet  to  undergo 
her  interview  with  Dr.  Jakes  in  his  study,  and  till  that 
was  over,  and  she  definitely  enlisted  for  or  against  him, 
Mrs.  Jakes  would  preserve  an  armed  neutrality. 

**I  think,"  said  Margaret,  **I  'd  like  to  go  out  to  the 
veranda. ' ' 

**We  call  it  the  stoep,"  corrected  Mrs.  Drakes.  **A 
Dutch  word,  I  believe.    By  all  means;  you  11  probably 

45 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

find  Mr.  Ford  there  and  I  will  call  you  when  the  doctor 
is  ready." 

The  stone  hall  held  its  cathedral  shadows  inviolate, 
and  from  it  Margaret  went  forth  to  a  westering  sun  that 
filled  the  earth  with  light,  and  painted  the  shadow  of  the 
house  in  startling  black  upon  the  ground.  She  stood 
between  the  square  pillars  with  their  dead  and  ruined 
vines  and  looked  forth  at  a  land  upon  which  the  light 
stood  stagnant.  It  was  as  though  the  Karoo  challenged 
her  conception  of  it.  She  had  seen  it  last  vague  with 
the  illusions  of  the  dawn,  hemmed  in  by  mists  and  shad- 
ows that  seemed  to  veil  the  distances  and  what  they 
held.  Now  these  were  stripped  from  it  to  reveal  only 
a  vast  nakedness,  of  red  and  red-brown  and  gray,  all 
ardent  in  the  afternoon  sun.  The  shadows  had  prom- 
ised a  mystery,  the  light  discovered  a  void.  It  ran 
from  before  her  yet  in  a  single  sweep  to  a  horizon 
upon  which  the  blue  of  remote  hills  was  a  faint  blur, 
and  in  all  the  far  prospect  of  it  there  was  not  one 
roof,  no  single  interruption  to  its  still  level.  Margaret, 
quickly  sensitive  to  the  quality  of  her  environment, 
gazed  at  it  almost  with  a  sense  of  awe,  baffled  by  the  fact 
that  no  words  at  her  command  were  pliant  enough  to  fit 
it.  It  was  not  *'wiW  nor  ^'desolate''  nor  even  '* beau- 
tiful'';  none  of  the  words  allotted  to  landscapes,  with 
which  folk  are  used  to  label  the  land  they  live  upon, 
could  be  stretched  to  the  compass  of  this  great  staring 
vacancy.  It  was  outside  of  language;  it  struck  a  note 
not  included  in  the  gamut  of  speech.  ** Inhuman"  came 
nearest  to  it,  for  the  salient  quality  of  it  was  something 
that  bore  no  relation  to  the  lives — and  deaths — of  men. 

A  sound  of  coughing  recalled  her  from  her  contem- 

46 


FLOWER  0^  THE  PEACH 

plation  of  it,  and  she  walked  along  the  stoep  towards 
it.  Behind  a  pillar  near  the  corner  of  the  house,  Ford 
sat  on  a  camp-stool,  with  a  little  easel  before  him,  and 
smudged  with  his  thumb  at  the  paint  on  a  small  canvas. 

He  looked  up  at  her  with  no  token  of  welcome,  but 
rather  as  though  he  withdrew  himself  unwillingly  from 
his  picture. 

*^Well?''  he  said,  motioning  with  his  head  at  the  wide 
prospect  before  them.    **What  d'you  think  of  itT* 

**0h,  a  lot,"  replied  Margaret,  refusing  to  commit 
herself  with  adjectives.    *'Can  I  see?" 

He  sat  back  to  give  her  room  to  look.  She  had  in  her 
time  spent  sincere  days  at  one  of  the  art  schools  which 
help  Kensington  to  its  character  and  was  prepared  to 
appreciate  expertly.  It  was  a  sketch  in  oils,  done 
mostly  with  the  thumb  and  palette-knife,  a  croitte  of  the 
most  obvious — paint  piled  in  ridges  as  though  the  artist 
would  have  built  his  subject  in  relief  upon  the  can- 
yaSj  perspective  improvised  by  the  light  of  nature,  cru- 
dities, brutalities  of  color,  obtruded  in  the  effort  for 
breadth.  They  were  all  there.  She  stared  into  this 
mist  of  blemishes  in  an  effort  to  see  what  the  painter 
saw  and  could  not  set  down,  and  had  to  give  it  up. 

In  the  art  school  it  had  been  the  custom  to  tell  one's 
fellows  the  curt,  unwelcome  truth. 

** You  can't  paint,"  said  Margaret. 

**0h,  I  know  that,"  answered  Ford.  **Yoii  weren't 
looking  for  that,  were  you?" 

* '  For  what,  then  ? ' '  asked  Margaret. 

He  hitched  himself  up  to  the  canvas  again,  and  began 
to  smudge  with  his  thumb  at  a  mess  of  yellow  ocre. 

** There  's  something  in  it  that  I  can  see,"  he  said. 

47 


FLOWER  0^  THE  PEACH 

**I  Ve  been  watching  this — this  desert  for  more  than  a 
year,  you  know,  and  I  try  to  get  in  what  I  see  in  it. 
You  can't  see  anything?'' 

**No,"  said  Margaret.  **But  I  did  try."  She 
watched  his  unskilful  handling  of  the  ocre.  '*I  could 
show  you  a  thing  or  two, ' '  she  suggested. 

She  had  all  a  woman 's  love  for  technique,  and  might 
have  been  satisfied  with  more  skill  and  less  purpose. 
But  Ford  shook  his  head. 

*'No,  thank  you,"  he  said.  ''It's  not  worth  while. 
I  'm  only  painting  for  myself.  I  know  what  I  mean 
by  these  messes  I  make;  if  I  could  paint  more,  I 
might  n  't  be  so  pleased  with  it. ' ' 

*'As  you  like,  of  course,"  said  Margaret,  a  little  dis- 
appointed. 

He  worked  in  silence  for  about  a  minute. 

**You  didn't  like  the  looks  of  Dr.  Jakes?"  he  sug- 
gested suddenly.  "I  saw  you  wondering  at  him  in 
there." 

**Well,"  Margaret  hesitated.  **He  seemed  rather  out 
of  it,"  she  answered.  *'Is  there  anything — wrong — 
with  him?" 

Ford  was  making  an  irreparable  mess  of  his  picture 
and  did  not  look  up. 

''Wrong?"  he  repeated.  "Well,  depends  what  you 
call  wrong.     He  drinks." 

"Drinks!"  Margaret  did  not  like  the  matter-of-fact 
way  in  which  he  said  it.     "Do  you  mean — " 

"He  's  a  drunkard — he  goes  to  bed  drunk.  His 
nerves  were  like  banjo  strings  this  afternoon;  he 
couldn't  keep  his  hands  still.  You  noticed  it?  That 
was  last  night's  drinking;  he  didn't  get  to  bed  till  day- 
light.   I  heard  him  struggling  up  the  stairs,  with  Mrs. 

48 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

Jakes  whispering  to  him  not  to  make  a  noise  and  help- 
ing him.     That  was  just  before  you  came/* 

''Poor  thing!'' 

**Yes — poor  thing!"  Ford  looked  up  at  the  girl 
sharply.  **You  Ve  got  it,  Miss  Harding.  It  's  Mrs. 
Jakes  that  suffers.  Jakes  has  got  his  liquor,  and  that 
makes  up  to  him  for  a  lot.  You  and  I,  we  Ve  got — 
whatever  we  have  got,  little  or  much.  Old  Samson  's 
got  his  memories  and  his  pose;  he  gets  along  all  right 
with  them.  But  she  's  got  nothing  at  all — only  the  feel- 
ing that  she  's  managed  to  screen  him  and  prop  him 
and  fooled  people  into  thinking  she  's  the  wife  of  a  de- 
cent man.     That  's  all." 

*'But,"  said  Margaret,  **is  he  safe?" 

*'Safe?  Oh,  I  forgot  that  he  was  to  see  you  in  Lis 
study.  He  won't  reel  about  and  fall  down,  if  that  's 
what  you  mean.  That  part  of  it  is  all  done  in  private ; 
Mrs.  Jakes  gets  the  benefit  of  that.  And  as  to  his  pa- 
tients, he  really  does  know  a  little  about  lungs  when 
he  's  sober,  and  there  's  always  the  air.  Oh,  he  's  safe 
enough." 

**It  's  dreadful,"  said  Margaret.  She  was  at  a  loss; 
the  men  she  knew  did  not  get  drunk.  When  they  went 
to  the  bad,  they  chose  different  roads;  this  one  seemed 
ankle-deep  with  defilement.  She  recalled  Mrs.  Jakes 
when  she  had  come  forth  from  the  silent  house  to  meet 
her  in  the  chill  dawn,  and  a  vision  flashed  upon  her  of 
the  vigil  that  must  have  been  hers  through  the  slow 
night,  listening  to  the  chink  of  bottle  on  glass  and  wait- 
ing, waiting  in  misery  and  fear  to  do  that  final  office  of 
helping  the  drunken  man  to  his  bed.  Her  primness,  her 
wan  gentility,  her  little  affectations  of  fashion,  seemed 
monstrously  heroic  in  the  light  of  that  vision — she  had 
4  49 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

carried  them  with  her  to  the  pit  of  her  humiliation  and 
brought  them  forth  again  unsullied,  the  spotless  armor 
of  a  woman  of  no  account. 

**You  understand  now?''  asked  Ford,  watching  her. 

*^Yes,"  answered  Margaret,  slowly.  **But  it  fright- 
ens me.  I  wish  I  hadn't  got  to  see  him  in  his  study. 
What  will  he  do?" 

**Hush!"  said  Ford.  **Here  comes  Mrs.  Jakes. 
Don't  let  her  hear  you.     He  won't  do  anything." 

He  fell  to  his  work  again,  and  Margaret  turned  to 
receive  the  doctor's  wife. 

'*The  doctor  will  see  you  now.  Miss  Harding,"  said 
Mrs.  Jakes.     **Will  you  come  with  me?" 

She  eyed  the  pair  of  them  with  a  suspicion  she  could 
not  altogether  hide,  and  Ford  was  careful  to  hold  an 
impassive  face. 

**I  am  quite  ready,"  returned  Margaret,  nerving  her- 
self for  what  had  assumed  the  proportions  of  an  ordeal, 
and  went  with  her  obediently. 

Jakes'  study  was  a  small,  rather  dark  room  opening 
off  the  hall,  in  which  the  apparatus  of  his  profession 
was  set  forth  to  make  as  much  show  as  possible.  His 
desk,  his  carpet,  his  leather  chairs  and  bookcases  did 
their  best  to  counterfeit  a  due  studiousness  in  his  behalf, 
and  a  high  shelf  of  blue  and  green  bottles,  with  a  mi- 
croscope among  them,  counteracted  their  effect  by  sug- 
gesting to  the  irreverent  that  here  science  was  ** skied" 
while  practice  was  hung  on  the  line.  This  first  inter- 
view was  a  convention  in  the  case  of  every  new  patient. 
Dr.  Jakes  always  saw  them  alone  as  a  matter  of  profes- 
sional honor.  Mrs.  Jakes  would  make  a  preliminary  in- 
spection of  him  to  assure  herself  and  him  that  he  was 
fit  for  it  J  old  Mr.  Samson,  passing  by  the  half-open 

50 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

door  once,  had  seen  her  bending  over  him,  smelling  his 
breath  critically;  and  then  she  would  trust  him  to  his 
patient's  good  will  and  to  the  arbitrary  Providence 
which  ruled  her  world. 

**Miss  Harding,  Eustace,"  she  announced  at  the  door 
of  the  study  and  motioned  the  girl  to  enter. 

The  little  doctor  rose  with  bustling  haste,  and  looked 
at  her  with  melancholy  eyes.  There  was  a  smell  of  eau 
de  Cologne  in  the  room,  which  seemed  natural  at  the 
time  to  its  rather  comfortable  shabbiness. 

**Sit  down,  sit  down.  Miss  Harding,"  he  said,  and 
made  a  business  of  thrusting  forward  one  of  the  leather 
chairs  to  the  side  of  his  desk.  Seated,  she  faced  him 
across  a  corner  of  it.  In  the  interval  that  had  elapsed 
since  she  had  seen  him  at  tea,  he  seemed  to  have  recov- 
ered himself  somewhat.  Some  of  the  strain  was  gone 
from  him,  and  he  was  grave  with  a  less  effect  of  effort 
and  discomfort. 

He  put  his  open  hand  upon  a  paper  that  lay  before 
him. 

*'It  was  Dr.  Mackintosh  who  ordered  you  south?"  he 
asked.  **A  clever  man,  Miss  Harding.  I  have  his 
letter  here  about  your  case.  Now,  I  want  you  to  answer 
a  question  or  two  before  we  listen  to  that  lung  of 
yours. ' ' 

** Certainly,"  said  Margaret. 

She  was  conscious  of  some  surprise  that  he  should 
move  so  directly  to  the  matter  in  hand.  It  relieved  her 
of  vague  fears  with  which  Ford's  warning  had  filled 
her,  and  as  he  went  on  to  question  her  searchingly,  her 
nervousness  departed.  The  little  man  who  fell  so  far 
short  of  her  ideal  of  a  doctor  knew  his  business;  even 
a  patient  like  herself,  with  all  a  patient's  prejudice 

51 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

and  ignorance,  could  tell  by  the  line  his  questions  took 
that  he  had  her  case  by  heart.  He  was  clearly  on 
familiar  ground,  a  fact  which  had  power  to  reassure 
her,  and  she  told  herself  that,  after  all,  his  resigned, 
plump  face  was  not  entirely  repulsive. 

**A  queer  little  man,''  she  said  to  herself.  ** Queer 
enough  to  be  a  genius,  perhaps." 

**And,  now,  please,  we  11  just  hear  how  things  really 
are.  No,  I  don't  think  you  need  undo  anything.  Yes, 
like  that." 

As  he  explored  her  chest  and  side  with  the  stetho- 
scope, his  head  was  just  under  her  face,  the  back  of  it 
rumpled  like  the  head  of  some  huge  and  clumsy  baby. 
It  was  fluffy  and  innocent  and  comical,  and  Margaret 
smiled  above  him.  Every  one  has  his  best  aspect,  or 
photographers  would  crowd  the  workhouses  and  the 
manufacturers  of  pink  lampshades  would  starve.  Dr. 
Jakes  should  have  made  more  of  the  back  of  his  head  and 
less  of  his  poor,  uncertain  face. 

But  he  was  done  with  the  stethoscope  at  last,  and  as  he 
raised  his  head  his  face  came  close  to  hers  and  the  taint 
of  his  breath  reached  her  nostrils.  Suddenly  she  under- 
stood the  eau  de  Cologne. 

**Well,"  he  said,  sitting  down  again;  *'now  we  know 
where  we  are." 

He  had  seen  her  little  start  of  disgust  and  annoyance 
at  the  smell  of  him,  and  kept  his  eyes  on  the  paper 
before  him,  playing  with  a  corner  of  it  between  his  fin- 
gers as  he  spoke. 

*'Will  I  get  well?"  asked  Margaret,  directly. 

**Yes,"  he  answered,  without  hesitating. 

*'I  'm  glad,"  she  said.  *'I  'm  awfully  glad.  Thank 
you." 

52 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

*^I  '11  see  about  your  treatment/'  he  said,  without  rais- 
ing his  eyes.    **But  I  needn't  keep  you  now.     Only — " 

''Yes?" 

*'You  mustn't  be  afraid,"  he  continued.  ''Not  of 
anything.  Do  you  understand?  You  mustn't  be 
afraid." 

Margaret  wished  he  would  look  up.  **I  'm  not 
afraid,"  she  answered.    ** Really  I  'm  not." 

Dr.  Jakes  sighed  and  rose  slowly.  The  trouble  had 
descended  on  him  again,  and  he  looked  sorry  and  dull. 

''That  's  right,"  he  said  without  heartiness,  and 
moved  to  open  the  door  for  her.  His  appealing  eyes 
dwelt  on  her  for  a  moment.  "This  isn't  England,"  he 
added,  with  a  heavy  deliberation.  "We  're  none  of  us 
here  because  we  like  it.  But — ^but  don't  be  afraid, 
Miss  Harding." 

"I  'm  sure  there  's  nothing  to  be  afraid  of,"  an- 
swered Margaret,  moved — he  was  so  mournful  in  his 
shame.  He  bowed  to  her,  a  slow  peck  of  his  big  head, 
and  she  went. 

In  the  hall,  Mrs.  'Jakes  met  her  and  challenged  her. 

"Well,"  she  said;  "and  what  does  the  doctor  say 
about  you?" 

Margaret  smiled  at  her.  "He  says  I  shall  get  well, 
and  I  believe  he  knows, ' '  she  answered. 

It  was  as  though  some  stiffening  in  Mrs.  Jakes  had 
suddenly  resigned  its  functions.  She  softened  before 
the  girl's  eyes. 

"Of  course  he  knows,"  she  said  contentedly.  "Of 
course  he  knows.     My  dear,  he  really  does  know. ' ' 

"I  'm  sure  he  does,"  agreed  Margaret. 

Mrs.  Jakes  put  a  hand  on  her  arm.  "I  feel  certain 
we  're  going  to   be  friends,"  she  said.    "You  're  so 

53 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

pretty  and — and  distinguished.  And — and  what  a 
pretty  f roek  you  've  got ! " 

She  hesitated  an  instant,  and  was  very  timid  and 
humble. 

**I  should  love  to  see  you  unpack,"  she  said  earnestly. 


54 


CHAPTER  lY 

THE  strength  of  a  commuiiity,  of  almost  any  com- 
munity, is  its  momentum;  it  is  easier  to  go  on 
than  to  pull  up,  even  though  its  progress  be  erratic 
and  the  tear  exceed  the  wear.  Dr.  Jakes'  Sanatorium 
was  a  house  divided  against  itself  and  poised  for  a 
downfall;  but  the  course  of  its  daily  life  had  yet  cur- 
rent enough  to  pick  up  a  newcomer  and  float  him  from 
his  independent  foothold.  The  long  languors  of  its 
days,  its  deep  whispering  nights,  were  opiates  for  the 
critical  and  exacting,  so  that  before  they  had  made  it 
clear  to  themselves  that  this  was  no  place  for  them, 
they  were  absorbed,  merged  in,  the  eventless  quiet 
of  the  house  and  its  people.  For  some — for  most  of 
them,  indeed — there  came  at  last  a  poignant  day  when 
Paul  and  his  tall  horses  halted  at  the  door  to  carry 
them  to  the  station,  and  it  was  strange  with  what  a 
reluctance  they  rode  finally  across  the  horizon  that  rose 
up  to  shut  the  big  gray  house  from  view,  and  how  they 
hesitated  and  frowned  and  talked  curtly  when  the 
station  opened  out  before  them  and  offered  them  the 
freedom  of  the  world.  And  for  the  others,  those  who 
traveled  the  longer  journey  and  alone,  there  stood  upon 
the  veld,  a  mile  from  the  house,  an  enclosure  of  barbed 
wire — barbed  against — what?  For  them  came  stout 
packing  cases,  which  made  the  Kafirs  sweat  by  their 
weight,  and  being  opened,  yielded  some  small  cross  of 
marble,  black-lettered  with  name  and  dates  and  sorrow- 

55 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

ful  texts;  the  lizards  sunned  themselves  all  day  upon 
these  monuments,  for  none  disturbed  them. 

At  the  Sanatorium,  day  began  in  the  cool  of  morning 
with  a  padding  of  bare  feet  in  the  long  corridors  and 
the  fresh  wakeful  smell  of  coffee.  Africa  begins  .  its 
day  with  coffee;  it  is  the  stirrup-cup  of  the  country. 
Margaret  opened  her  eyes  to  the  brightness  of  morn- 
ing and  the  brisk  presence  of  Fat  Mary,  radiant  across 
her  adventurously  held  tray  of  coffee  cups  and  re- 
flecting the  joy  of  the  new  light  in  her  exulting  smile. 
She  had  caught  from  Mrs.  'Jakes  the  first  rule  of  polite 
conversation,  though  none  of  the  subsequent  ones,  and 
she  always  began  with  a  tribute  of  words  to  the  weather. 

''Sun  burning  plenty;  how  's  Missis?"  was  her  usual 
opening  gambit. 

The  wide-open  windows  flushed  the  room  with  air, 
sweet  from  the  night's  refreshment;  and  Margaret 
came  to  value  that  hour  between  the  administration  of 
coffee  and  the  time  for  rising ;  it  was  the  honne  houche 
of  the  day.  From  her  pillows  she  could  lie  and  see 
the  far  mists  making  a  last  stand  against  the  shock 
of  the  sun,  breaking  and  diffusing  before  his  attack 
and  yielding  up  wider  views  of  the  rusty  plain  at  each 
minute,  till  at  last  the  dim  blue  of  infinitely  remote 
hills  thickened  the  horizon.  At  the  farm,  a  mile  away, 
figures  moved  about  and  among  the  kraals,  wonderfully 
and  delicately  clear  in  that  diamond  air  which  stirred 
her  blood  like  wine.  She  could  even  make  out  Paul ; 
the  distance  robbed  him  of  nothing  of  his  deliberate, 
dreamy  character  as  he  went  to  and  fro  with  his  air 
of  one  concerned  with  greater  things  than  the  mere 
immediacies  of  every  day.  There  was  always  a  sug- 
gestion about  him  of  one  who  stoops  from  cloudy  alti- 

56 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

tudes  of  preoccupation  to  the  little  concerns  of  men, 
and  towards  Margaret  he  wore  the  manner  of  having 
a  secret  to  divulge  which  was  difficult  to  name.  She 
met  him  sometimes  on  the  veld  paths  between  the  two 
houses,  and  each  time  he  seemed  to  draw  near  the  criti- 
cal moment  of  confession  and  fall  back  from  it  baffled. 
And  though  Margaret  in  her  time  had  heard  many  con- 
fidences from  many  men  and  had  made  much  progress  in 
the  subtle  arts  of  the  confidante,  this  was  a  case  beyond 
her  powers.  The  deftly  sympathetic  corkscrew  failed  to 
unbottle  whatever  moved  in  his  mind;  he  evidently 
meant  to  bide  his  time.  Meanwhile,  seen  from  afar,  he 
was  a  feature  of  the  before-breakfast  hour,  part  of 
the  upholstery  of  the  morning. 

It  was  when  she  heard  Mr.  Samson  pass  her  door 
on  his  way  to  the  bath  that  she  knew  the  house  was 
definitely  awake.  He  wore  Turkish  slippers  that  an- 
nounced him  as  he  went  with  the  slap-slap  of  their 
heels  upon  the  floor.  Once,  putting  her  head  forth 
from  the  door  incautiously  to  scout  for  Fat  Mary  she 
had  beheld  him,  with  his  bath-robe  girt  about  him  by 
its  tasseled  cord  and  bath  towels  round  his  neck,  going 
faithfully  to  the  ritual  initiation  of  his  daily  round, 
a  figure  consistent  with  the  most  correct  gentlemanly 
tradition.  The  loose  robe  and  the  towels  gave  him 
girth  and  substance,  and  on  the  wary,  intolerant  old 
face,  with  its  gay  white  mustache,  was  fixed  a  look  of 
serious  purpose.  Mr,  Samson  never  trifled  with  his 
toilet,  by  gad — what?  Later,  on  his  return,  she  would 
hear  his  debonair  knock  on  Ford's  door.  *'Out  with 
you!"  he  would  pipe — he  never  varied  it.  **Out  with 
you!  Bright  and  early,  my  boy — bright  and  early — 
what?"    An   answer   growled   from   within  contented 

57 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

him,  and  he  would  turn  in  at  his  room,  there  to  build 
up  the  completed  personality  which  he  offered  daily 
to  the  world.  It  took  time,  too,  and  a  meek  Kafir 
valet,  for  a  man  is  not  made  and  perfected  in  a  minute 
or  two,  and  the  result  never  failed  to  justify  the  labor. 
When  next  he  appeared  it  would  be  as  a  member  of  the 
upper  classes,  armored  and  equipped,  treading  the  stoep 
in  a  five-minutes'  constitutional  in  a  manner  that  at 
once  dignified  and  lightened  it.  When  one  looked  at 
him,  one  thought  instinctively  of  exclusive  clubs,  of 
fine  afternoons  in  Piccadilly,  of  the  landed  interest  and 
the  Church  of  England.  One  judged  that  his  tailor 
loved  him.  He  had  a  cock  of  the  head,  with  a  Hom- 
burg  hat  upon  it,  and  a  way  of  swelling  his  neck  over 
the  edge  of  his  conservative  collar,  that  were  the  very 
ensign  of  gallantry  and  spirit.  It  was  only  when  he 
coughed  that  the  power  abandoned  him,  and  it  was 
shocking  and  pitiful  to  see  the  fine  flower  of  gentility 
rattled  like  a  dice-box  in  the  throes  of  his  malady  and 
dropped  at  last  against  a  wall,  wheezing  and  gasping 
for  breath  in  the  image  of  a  weak  and  stricken  old 
man. 

"Against  the  ropes,"  he  would  stammer  shakily  as 
he  gathered  himself  together  again,  sniffling  into  his 
beautiful  handkerchief.  *'Got  me  against  the  ropes,  it 
did.    Damn  it — whatT' 

He  suffered  somewhat  in  his  aggressive  effect  from 
the  lack  of  victims.  He  had  exhausted  his  black  valet's 
capacity  for  being  blasted  by  a  glance,  and  had  fallen 
back  on  Dr.  Jakes.  The  wretched  little  doctor  had  to 
bear  the  brunt  of  his  high  severity  when  he  came  among 
his  patients  racked  and  quivering  from  his  restless 
bed,  and  his  bleared  and  tragic  eyes  appealed  in  vain 

58 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

for  mercy  from  that  high  priest  of  correct  demeanor. 
Mr.  Samson  looked  at  him  as  a  justice  of  the  peace, 
detained  upon  the  bench  when  he  should  be  at  lunch 
and  conscious  that  his  services  to  the  State  are  gratui- 
tous, might  look  upon  a  malefactor  who  has  gone  to 
the  length  of  being  without  visible  means  of  subsistence. 
The  doctor  might  wriggle  and  smile  painfully  and  seek 
the  obscurity  of  corners,  but  it  could  not  serve  him; 
there  was  no  getting  out  of  range  of  that  righteous  and 
manly  battery  while  he  stayed  in  the  same  room  with 
it.  Once,  however,  he  spiked  its  guns.  The  glare  across 
the  tea-table,  the  unspoken  sheer  weight  of  rebuke  and 
condemnation,  seemed  to  suddenly  break  up  the 
poisoned  fog  that  clouded  his  faculties,  and  he  lifted 
his  face,  shining  a  little  as  with  sweat,  in  a  quick  look 
at  Mr.  Samson.  Margaret,  who  saw  it,  recognized  it; 
just  so  he  had  looked  in  his  study  when  he  questioned 
her  on  her  case  and  bent  his  mind  to  the  consideration 
of  it.  It  was  direct,  expert,  impersonal,  the  dehuman- 
ized scrutiny  of  the  man  whose  trade  is  with  flesh  and 
blood.  Something  had  stirred  the  physician  in  the 
marrow  of  the  man,  and  from  a  judge  and  an  execu- 
tioner of  justice,  a  drawing-room  hangman,  Mr.  Sam- 
son had  become  a  case.  At  the  beginning  of  it,  Mrs. 
Jakes,  unfailingly  watchful,  had  opened  her  mouth  to 
speak  and  save  the  situation,  but  she  too  saw  in  time 
and  closed  her  mouth  again.  Mr.  Samson  glowered  and 
the  hectic  in  his  thin  cheeks  burned  brighter. 

**You  've  seen  me  before,  Jakes!"  he  said,  crisply. 

The  little  doctor  nodded  almost  easily.    **Your  hand, 
please, ' '  he  said.     * '  Thanks. ' ' 

His  forefinger  found  the  pulse  and  dwelt  on  it;  he 
waited  with  lips  pursed,  frowning. 

59 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

"As  I  thouglit,"  he  said,  dropping  the  stringy  white 
hand  again.  **Yes!  I  '11  see  you  in  the  study,  Mr. 
Samson,  please — in  half  an  hour." 

Mr.  Samson  gulped  but  stood  up  manfully.  He  was 
at  his  best,  standing,  by  reason  of  a  certain  legginess 
which  had  been  taken  into  account  in  the  design  of  his 
clothes,  but  now  those  clothes  seemed  big  for  him. 

**What  is  it?"  he  demanded,  throwing  his  courage 
into  his  voice. 

Dr.  Jakes  warned  him  with  an  uplifted  finger. 

**Sit  down,"  he  said.  **Keep  quiet.  I  11  see  you  in 
half  an  hour." 

He  looked  round  at  Margaret  and  the  rest  of  them 
thoughtfully  and  went  back  to  his  place  by  the  mantel- 
piece, sighing.  It  was  his  signal  to  them  that  his  brief 
display  of  efficiency  was  over,  and  as  though  to  screen  his 
retreat,  Mrs.  Jakes  coughed  and  hoped  loudly  that  the 
rain  would  hold  off. 

But  Mr.  Samson  made  his  way  to  a  chair  and  sat  down 
in  it  heavily,  grasping  its  arms  with  his  hands,  and  Mar- 
garet noticed  for  the  first  time  that  he  was  an  old  man. 

Apparently  the  thing  that  threatened  Mr.  Samson 
was  not  very  serious,  or  else  the  doctor  had  found 
means  to  head  it  off  in  time,  for  though  he  went  from 
the  study  to  his  bed,  he  was  at  breakfast  next  morn- 
ing, with  a  fastidious  appetite  and  thereafter  the  course 
of  his  life  remained  unaltered. 

Breakfast  at  the  Sanatorium  was  in  theory  a  meal 
that  might  be  taken  at  any  hour  from  eight  till  half  past 
eleven.  In  the  days  of  his  dream,  Dr.  Jakes  had  seen 
dimly  silver  dishes  with  spirit  lamps  under  them  and 
a  house-party  effect  of  folk  dropping  in  as  they  came 
down  and  helping  themselves.    But  Mrs.  Uakes'  thou- 

60 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

sand  pounds  had  stopped  short  of  the  silver  dishes  and 
Mrs.  Jakes  herself  could  not  be  restrained  from  attend- 
ing in  person  to  see  that  the  coffee  was  hot.  Therefore, 
since  it  was  not  possible  in  any  conscience  to  bind  Mrs. 
Jakes  to  her  post  till  noon,  breakfast  occurred  between 
half -past  eight  and  half -past  nine. 

The  freshness,  the  exuberance,  of  the  morning  were 
not  for  her ;  already  she  wore  the  aspect  of  one  who  has 
done  a  stage  of  the  day's  journey  and  shed  the  bloom 
of  her  vigor  upon  it.  The  sunlight,  waxing  like  a  tide 
in  flood,  was  powerless  to  lift  her  prim,  black-dressed 
personality  from  the  level  of  its  cares  and  functions. 
She  made  to  each  as  he  entered  the  same  mechanical 
little  bow  across  the  crockery,  smiled  the  same  formal 
smile  from  the  lips  outwards  and  uttered  the  same  small 
comment  on  the  blaze  of  day  that  filled  the  earth  with- 
out the  window.  She  had  her  life  trimmed  down  to 
a  routine  for  convenience  of  handling;  she  was  one  of 
those  people — ^they  are  the  salt  of  the  earth! — whose 
passions  are  monosyllabic,  whose  woes  are  inarticulate. 
The  three  who  sat  daily  at  meat  with  her  knew  and 
told  each  other  that  her  composure,  her  face  keyed 
up  like  an  instrument  to  its  pitch  of  vacant  propriety, 
were  a  mask.  Sometimes,  even,  there  had  been  sounds 
in  the  night  to  assure  them  of  it;  occasionally  Jakes, 
on  his  way  to  bed  in  the  small  hours,  would  slip  on 
the  stairs  and  bump  down  a  dozen  or  so  of  them,  and 
lie  where  he  fell  till  he  was  picked  up  and  set  on  his 
way  again;  there  would  be  the  rasp  of  labored  breath 
as  he  was  supported  along  the  corridor,  and  the 
mumble  of  his  blurred  speech  hushed  by  prayerful 
whispers.  A  door  slammed,  a  low  cry  bitten  off  short, 
and  then  silence  in  the  big  house,  and  in  the  morning 

61 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

Mrs.  Jakes  with  her  coffee  pot  and  trivial  tinkle  of 
speech  and  treble  armor  of  practised  bearing  against 
the  pity  of  those  who  knew!  The  sheer  truculence  of 
it  held  them  dumb;  it  was  the  courage  of  a  swash- 
buckler, of  a  bravo,  and  it  imposed  on  them  the  decorum 
of  silence. 

The  doctor,  she  gave  them  to  understand,  suffered 
from  the  climate. 

*'He  never  was  strong,"  she  would  say,  with  her 
eyes  fixed  on  the  person  addressed  as  though  she  would 
challenge  him  to  dispute  or  question  it.  *' Never!  It 's 
the  sun,  I  think;  he  suffers  from  his  head,  you 
know.  He  used  to  take  aspirin  for  it  when  we  were 
first  married,  but  it  doesn't  seem  to  do  him  any  good 
now.'' 

The  three  of  them  would  nod  sympathetically  and 
look  hastily  elsewhere,  as  though  ashamed  to  be  the  spec- 
tators of  her  humiliation. 

Poor  Mrs.  Jakes!  Seven  thousand  miles  from  the 
streets  of  Clapham  Junction,  an  exile  from  the  cheeri- 
ness  and  security  of  its  little  decent  houses,  she  held 
yet  with  a  frail  hand  to  the  skirts  of  its  beatitude.  In 
the  drawer  in  her  bedroom  which  also  contained  Jakes' 
dress  suit,  she  kept  in  tissue  paper  and  sincere  regard 
a  morocco-bound  mausoleum  of  memory — an  album. 
Only  two  or  three  times  in  Mr.  Samson's  experience — 
and  he  had  been  an  inmate  of  the  Sanatorium  for  four 
years — had  she  brought  it  forth.  Once  was  on  the  night 
before  young  Shaw  died,  and  when  no  soothing  would 
hold  him  at  peace  in  his  bed,  he  had  lain  still  to  look 
through  those  yellowing  portraits  and  hear  Mrs.  Jakes 
tell  how  this  one  was  doing  very  well  as  a  job-master 
and  that  one  had  turned  Papist.    But  Margaret  Hard- 

62 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

ing  had  seen  it.  Mrs.  'Jakes  had  sat  on  her  bed,  quell- 
ing Fat  Mary  with  her  eye,  and  seen  her  unpack  her 
clothes,  the  frocks  new  from  dressmakers  and  tailors  in 
London,  the  hats  of  only  a  month  ago.  Margaret  had 
been  aided  in  buying  them  by  a  philosophic  aunt  who 
had  recently  given  up  vegetarianism  on  the  advice  of 
her  hairdresser.  ''My  child,  play  light,''  had  been  the 
counsel  of  this  relative.  ''Don't  surprise  the  natives; 
they  never  like  it.  No  frills;  a  vigorous  vicarage  style 
is  what  you  want."  And  she  had  brought  considerable 
powers  of  personality  and  vocabulary  to  bear  on  Mar- 
garet's choice,  so  that  in  the  result  there  predominated 
a  certain  austerity  of  raiment  which  Margaret  found 
unexciting.  But  Mrs.  Jakes  received  them  as  canons 
of  fashion,  screwing  up  her  mouth  and  nodding  gravely 
as  she  mastered  saliencies. 

"I  can't  quite  imagine  them  in  these  styles,"  she  said; 
"the  people  in  the  Park,  I  mean.  I  suppose  it 's  this 
golf  that 's  done  it." 

In  return  for  the  exhibition,  she  had  shown  Margaret 
her  album.  It  had  many  thick  pages  with  beveled  gilt 
edges,  each  framing  from  one  to  six  portraits  or 
groups,  and  she  had  led  her  hearer  through  the  lot 
of  them,  from  the  first  to  the  last.  They  sat  side  by 
side  on  the  bed  in  Mrs.  Jakes'  room,  and  the  album  lay 
open  on  their  laps,  and  Mrs.  Jakes'  finger  traveled  Uke 
a  pointer  among  the  pictures  while  she  elucidated  them 
in  a  voice  of  quiet  pride.  These  pale  and  fading  faces, 
fixed  to  the  order  of  the  photographer  in  more  than 
human  smiles,  with  sleek  and  decorative  hair  and  a 
show  of  clothes  so  patently  reserved  for  Sundays,  were 
neither  pale  nor  faded  for  her.  She  knew  the  life  be- 
hind them,  their  passions  and  their  strength,  and  spokQ 

63 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

of  them  as  she  might  have  spoken  had  they  been  wait- 
ing in  the  next  room. 

**That  's  my  sister,'*  she  said,  her  finger  pausing. 
**Two  years  older  than  me,  but  she  never  married. 
And  what  she  used  to  suffer  from  indigestion,  words 
can't  tell.  And  here  's  my  Aunt  Martha — yes,  she  died 
seven  years  ago.  My  mother's  sister,  you  know.  My 
mother  was  a  Penf old — one  of  the  Penf olds  of  Putney. 
You  Ve  heard  of  them  ?  Ah,  and  here  's  Bill  Penf  old, 
my  cousin  Bill.  Poor  Bill,  he  didn't  do  well,  ever. 
He  had  a  fancy  for  me,  once,  or  so  they  said,  but  my 
father  never  could  bear  him.  No  harm,  you  know,  no 
real  harm,  but  larky — sort  of.  This  one?  Oh,  that  's 
nobody — a  Mr.  Wrench,  who  used  to  collect  for  my 
father ;  he  had  a  hair-lip.     I  did  n  't  like  him. ' ' 

The  thick  page  turned,  and  showed  on  the  other  side 
a  single  cabinet  portrait  of  a  thin  woman,  with  her  head 
a  little  on  one  side. 

**My  mother,"  said  Mrs.  Jakes,  and  shifted  the  album 
that  Margaret  might  see  better. 

**She  was  a  Penf  old  of  Putney,"  she  said,  gently. 
'*I  think  she  shows  it,  you  know.  A  bit  quiet  and  re- 
fined, especially  about  the  eyes.    Don't  you  think  so?" 

It  was  the  picture  of  the  wife  of  a  robust  and  hardy 
man,  Margaret  thought,  and  as  for  the  eyes  and  their 
slight  droop,  the  touch  of  listlessness  which  bespeaks  an 
acquired  habit  of  patience  and  self-suppression,  she  had 
only  to  look  up  and  they  returned  her  look  from  the  face 
of  Mrs.  Jakes. 

**And  this?"  she  asked. 

Mrs.  Jakes  smiled  quite  brightly ;  the  photograph  was 
one  of  a  baby. 

''That 's  little  Eustace,"  she  answered,  with  no  trace 

64 


FLOWER  0^  THE  PEACH 

of  the  softness  of  regret  which  had  hushed  her  tone  when 
she  spoke  of  her  mother.  *'My  little  baby;  he  'd  have 
been  a  big  boy  now.  He  was  like  his  father — very  like. 
Everybody  noticed  it.  And  that" — her  finger  passed 
on — ''is  George  Penfold,  Sergeant-Major  in  the 
Guards.  His  widow  married  again,  a  gunner  in  the 
Navy." 

No  sorrow  for  little  Eustace.  He,  at  any  rate, 
would  never  see  his  dreams  dislimn  and  fail  him;  no 
wife  would  watch  the  slow  night  through  for  his  un- 
steady step  nor  read  the  dishonor  written  in  his  eyes. 
The  first  of  the  crosses  in  the  barbed  wire  enclosure, 
Mrs.  Jakes'  empty  and  aching  heart  and  her  quick  smile 
of  triumph  at  his  easy  victory  over  all  the  snares  of  life 
— these  and  the  faint,  whitening  photograph  remained 
of  little  Eustace.  Many  a  man  leaves  less  when  his 
time  comes  in  South  Africa. 

''The  weather  is  holding  up  nicely,"  she  would  say 
at  breakfast.  "Almost  too  fine,  isn't  it?  But  I  sup- 
pose we  oughtn't  complain." 

It  was  a  meal  over  which  one  lingered,  for  with  the 
end  of  it  there  closed  the  eventful  period  of  the  day. 
While  it  lasted,  the  Sanatorium  was  at  its  best;  one 
saw  one's  fellows  in  faint  hues  of  glamour  after  the 
night's  separation  and  heard  them  speak  with  a  sense 
of  receiving  news.  But  the  hour  exhausted  them  of 
interest  and  one  left  the  table,  when  all  pretexts  for 
remaining  there  had  been  expended,  to  face  the  empti- 
ness of  a  morning  already  stale.  That,  in  truth,  was 
the  price  one  paid  for  healing,  the  wearing,  smothering 
monotony  of  the  idle  days,  when  there  was  nothing 
to  do  and  one  saw  oneself  a  part  of  the  stagnation 
that  ruled  the  place.  Mrs.  Jakes  withdrew  herself  to 
5  65 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

become  the  motor  of  the  domestic  machinery,  and  till 
lunch  time  was  not  available  for  countenance  and  sup- 
port. Ford  occupied  himself  gravely  with  his  little 
canvases,  plastering  upon  them  strange  travesties  of 
landscape,  and  was  busy  and  intent  and  impatient  of 
interruption  for  long  periods  at  a  time,  while  Mr.  Sam- 
son, keeping  a  sufficient  offing  from  all  human  contact, 
alternately  strutted  to  and  fro  upon  the  stoep  in  a 
short  quarter-deck  promenade  of  ten  steps  and  a  right 
about  turn,  and  lay  in  a  deck  chair  with  a  writing  case 
upon  his  knee  and  wrote  fitfully  and  with  deep  thought 
long,  important  looking  letters  which  never  reached  the 
post. 

''You  're  feeling  the  need  of  something  to  do,''  Ford 
told  Margaret,  when  in  desperation  she  came  behind 
him  and  watched  him  modeling — as  it  seemed — in 
burnt  sienna.     *'Why  don't  you  knit — or  something?" 

"Knit?"  said  Margaret  with  huge  scorn. 

"You  '11  come  to  it,"  he  warned  her.  "There  was 
a  chap  here  before  you  came  who  taught  himself  the 
harp.  A  nuisance  he  was,  too,  but  he  said  he  'd  have 
been  a  gibbering  idiot  without  it." 

"That  wasn't  saying  much,  perhaps,"  retorted  Mar- 
garet. 

"Oh,  I  don't  know.  He  was  a  barrister  of  sorts,  I 
believe.  Not  many  barristers  who  can  play  the  harp, 
you  know." 

"For  goodness'  sake,  don't  knead  the  stuff  like  that!" 
cried  Margaret,  watching  his  thumb  at  work.  "You  're 
painting,  not — ^not  civil  engineering!  But  what  were 
you?" 

"  Eh  ? "    He  looked  up  at  her. 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

''Before  you  had  to  come  here,  I  mean?  Oh,  do  talk 
for  a  minute, ' '  she  begged. 

** Sorry,"  he  said.     *'I  was  in  the  army." 

**And  was  it  rather  awful  to  have  to  give  up  and 
nurse  yourself  ? ' ' 

**Well!"  He  glanced  at  her  consideringly,  as 
though  to  measure  her  intelligence.  *'It  was  rough," 
he  admitted.  *'You  see,  the  army  's  not  like  barrister- 
ing,  for  instance.  It  's  not  a  thing  you  can  drop  for  a 
bit  and  then  take  up  again ;  once  you  're  out,  you  're  out 
for  good."    He  paused.    **And  I  meant  it,"  he  added. 

''Meant  it?" 

"Yes,  there  's  a  chance  nowadays  for  a  chap  with 
a  turn  for  soldiering.  There  's  a  lot  to  know,  you 
see,  and,  well — I  was  by  way  of  knowing  it.  That  's 
all." 

He  turned  to  his  canvas  again,  but  did  not  fall  to 
work.  Margaret  saw  his  back,  thin  under  his  silk  coat 
but  flat  and  trim  as  a  drilled  man's  should  be. 

"So  for  you,  it  meant  the  end  of  everything?"  she 
suggested. 

"Looks  like  it,  doesn't  it!"  he  answered.  "Still 
— we  '11  see.  They  trained  me  and  there  's  just  a 
chance,  in  the  event  of  a  row,  that  they  might  have  a 
use  for  me.  They  'd  be  short  of  officers  who  knew  the 
game.    You  see — " 

He  hitched  sideways  on  his  camp-stool  so  that  he 
might  make  himself  clear  to  her. 

"You  see,  the  business  of  charging  at  the  head  of 
your  men  is  a  thing  of  the  past,  pretty  nearly.  All 
that  gallery  play  is  done  away  with.  But  take  a  hun- 
dred Tommies  and  walk   'em  about  for  half  a  year, 

67 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

3ry-nurse  'em,  keep  them  fed  and  healthy  and  mod- 
erately happy  and  as  clean  as  you  can,  be  something 
between  an  nncle  and  a  schoolmaster  to  them,  and  have 
'em  ready  at  the  end  of  it  to  march  forty  miles  in  a  day 
and  then  fight — that 's  an  art  in  itself !  In  fact,  it 's 
a  trade,  and  it  can 't  be  learned  in  a  week. ' ' 

**I  'm  perfectly  sure  it  can't,"  agreed  Margaret. 

'*Well,  that  was  my  trade,"  said  Ford.  ** That's 
where  I  '11  come  in  when  the  band  begins  to  play. 
See?" 

He  nodded  at  her  expressively  but  with  finality.  It 
was  plain  that  he  considered  the  subject  drained  dry, 
and  only  waited  for  her  to  go  to  return  to  the  mysteries 
of  art. 

'*0h,  well,"  sighed  Margaret,  and  left  him  to  it. 

Lunch  lacked  the  character  of  breakfast.  For  one 
thing,  it  was  impossible  for  three  feeble  people,  de- 
barred from  exercise,  to  arrive  at  a  state  of  appetite 
during  a  morning  of  semi-torpor,  with  a  prospect  before 
them  of  an  afternoon  of  the  same  quality.  For  an- 
other, tempers  had  endured  the  heat  and  burden  of 
four  hours  of  enforced  idleness  and  emerged  from  the 
test  frayed  at  the  edges. 

This  meant  more  labor  for  poor  Mrs.  Jakes,  who 
could  by  no  means  allow  the  meal  to  be  eaten  in  a  bit- 
ter silence,  and  was  driven  by  a  stern  sense  of  duty  to 
keep  up  a  dropping  fire  of  small  talk.  Their  sour 
faces,  the  grimness  with  which  they  passed  the  salt, 
filled  her  with  nervous  tremors,  and  she  talked  as  a 
bom  hostess  might  talk  to  cover  the  confusion  induced 
by  an  earthquake  under  the  table,  trembling  but  fluent 
to  the  last.  There  were  times  when  her  small,  hesitat- 
ing voice  wrought  Margaret  up  to  the  very  point  of 

68 


FLOWER  O'  THE  PEACH 

flat  interventions.  At  one  such  moment,  it  was  Ford 
who  saved  the  situation. 

''Miss  Harding/*  he  said,  in  a  matter-of-fact  way. 
"You  are  a  pig!" 

Mrs.  Jakes  gasped  and  bounded  in  her  chair,  and  old 
Mr.  Samson  choked. 

"And  you,"  replied  Margaret  with  intensity,  "are 
just  a  plain  beast ! ' ' 

"That  's  the  idea,"  said  Ford.  "You  feel  better 
now?" 

"Ever  so  much  better,  thank  you,"  answered  Mar- 
garet.    "It  was  just  what  I  wanted." 

Mrs.  Jakes  was  staring  at  them  as  though  convinced 
that  sudden  mania  had  attacked  them  both  at  the  same 
moment. 

"It  's  all  right,"  Ford  assured  her.  "It 's  a  dodge 
for  blowing  off  temper.  If  you  'd  just  call  Mr.  Sam- 
son something  really  rude,  he  *d  be  ever  so  grateful. 
Call  him  a  Socialist,  Mrs.  Jakes." 

"Oh,  I  couldn't,"  said  Mrs.  Jakes,  while  Mr.  Sam- 
son, mastering  his  emotions,  glared  and  reddened. 
"You  did  alarm  me,"  she  said.  "I  thought  for  a  mo- 
ment— ^well,  I  don't  know  what  I  did  think." 

She  was  distinctly  not  at  her  ease  for  the  remainder 
of  the  meal,  and  even  at  tea  that  afternoon,  she  kept 
an  eye  on  the  pair  of  them.  To  her  mind,  they  were 
playing  with  edged  tools. 

It  was  at  tea,  as  a  rule,  that  Dr.  Jakes  was  first 
visible,  very  tremulous  and  thirsty,  but  always  sub- 
missive and  content  to  be  overlooked  and  forgotten. 
At  dinner,  later  on,  he  would  be  better  and  able  to 
tajk  with  a  jerky  continuity  to  Margaret  who  sat  at 
his  right  hand.    He  bore  himself  always  with  an  air  of 

69 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

effort,  like  one  who  is  not  at  home  and  whose  acquaint- 
ance with  his  fellows  is  slight,  and  drank  at  table 
nothing  but  water.  His  eyes  kept  the  Kafir  servants 
under  observation  as  they  waited,  and  the  black  boys 
were  full  of  alacrity  in  the  consciousness  that  he  was 
watching.  *  *  It  's  strange, '  ^  Mrs.  Jakes  used  to  say ; 
*' Eustace  is  so  quiet,  and  yet  the  natives  obey  him 
wonderfully."  Afterwards,  in  the  drawing-room,  he 
would  flicker  to  and  fro  restlessly,  growing  each  mo- 
ment more  irritable  and  incapable  of  hearing  a  sen- 
tence to  the  end.  Half-way  through  the  evening,  he 
would  seize  an  occasion  to  escape  to  his  own  quarters, 
and  thereafter  would  be  invisible  till  next  day.  Every 
one  knew  whither  he  went  and  for  what  purpose;  eyes 
met  in  significant  glances  as  the  door  closed  softly  be- 
hind him  and  Mrs.  Jakes  raised  her  voice  in  rapid 
speech  to  hide  the  sound  of  his  tiptoe  crossing  of  the 
hall;  his  secret  was  anybody's  and  even  the  Kafirs 
shared  it,  and  yet  the  man  had  the  force  of  mystery. 
He  slid  to  and  fro  in  the  interstices  of  their  lives  and 
came  to  the  surface  only  to  serve  and  heal  them.  That 
done,  he  dropped  back  again  to  the  solace  that  was  his 
behind  his  locked  door,  while  about  him  the  house 
slept.  He  knew  himself  and  yet  could  look  his  pa- 
tients and  his  wife  in  the  face.  Mingled  with  their  con- 
tempt and  disgust,  there  was  an  acknowledgment  of  the 
quality  of  him,  of  a  kind  of  wry  and  shabby  greatness. 

And  thus  the  day  came  to  its  end.  One  by  one,  Mar- 
garet, Ford  and  Mr.  Samson  drew  off  and  made  their 
way  to  the  dignified  invitation  of  the  big  staircase  and 
their  rooms.  Mrs.  Jakes  was  always  at  hand  to  bid 
them  good  night,  for  her  day  was  yet  a  long  way  from 
its  finish. 

70 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

'* Tired,  my  dear?"  she  would  ask  Margaret.  ''It's 
been  a  tiring  day ;  I  feel  it  myself.     Good  night  to  you." 

In  her  room,  Margaret  would  find  Fat  Mary  waiting 
for  her,  sleepy  in  her  vast,  ridiculous  way,  but  still 
prodigal  of  smiles,  and  ready  to  put  her  to  bed  with 
two  left  hands  equipped  with  ten  thumbs.  She  had  a 
yawn  which  would  have  reminded  Jonah  of  old  times, 
but  nothing  could  damp  her  helpful  ardor,  not  even 
being  discovered  stretched  fast  asleep  on  Margaret's 
bed  and  being  waked  with  the  bath  sponge.  She  made 
it  clear  that  she  would  stop  at  few  things  to  be  of 
service. 

''Missis  not  sleepy?  Ah!"  She  stood  in  thought 
for  five  seconds.  "Me  nurse  Missis,  all  same  baby? 
Plenty  strong — me ! ' ' 

She  dandled  an  imaginary  child  in  her  great  arms, 
smiling  cheerfully  but  quite  in  earnest.  "Plenty 
strong,"  she  assured  the  young  lady  from  Kensington. 
"No?    No?    Alla-right!" 

Darkness  at  last,  and  the  window  wide  to  the  small, 
whispering  winds  which  people  the  veld  at  night!  A 
sky  of  blue-black  powdered  with  misty  white  stars,  and 
from  the  distance,  squeaks,  small  cries,  the  wary  voice 
of  the  wilderness!  Sometimes  a  jackal  would  range 
within  earshot  and  lift  up  his  voice  under  the  stars 
to  cry  like  a  child,  in  the  very  accent  of  heartbroken, 
helpless  woe.  The  nightly  traffic  of  the  veld  was  in 
full  swing  ere  her  eyes  closed  and  its  subdued  clamor 
followed  her  into  her  dreams. 

Silence  in  the  big  house  and  along  the  matted  corri- 
dors— and  one  voice,  speaking  guardedly,  in  the  hall. 
It  never  happened  to  Margaret  to  hear  it  and  go  to 
the  stair-head  and  look  down.     Thence  she  might  have 

71 


FLOWER  0*  THE  PEACH 

seen  what  would  have  made  her  less  happy — Mrs. 
Jakes  on  her  knees  at  the  locked  door  of  the  study, 
with  her  candle  set  on  the  floor  beside  her,  casting  a 
monstrous  shadow-caricature  of  her  upon  the  gray 
stone  wall.  In  her  sober  black  dress  she  knelt  on  the 
mat  and  her  small,  kitchen-reddened  hands  tapped 
gently,  carefully  on  the  panels.  She  spoke  through  the 
keyhole  and  her  fruitless  whisperings  rustled  in  light 
echoes  about  the  high  ceiling. 

'* Eustace,  it 's  me.  Eustace!  I  'm  so  tired,  Eustace. 
Please  open  the  door.  Please,  Eustace !  It 's  only  me, 
dear." 


72 


CHAPTER  V 

HARDLY  smart,"  pronounced  Mrs.  du  Preez, 
speaking  low  into  Mrs.  Jakes'  ear.  *' Smart  's 
not  the  word  I  'd  use  for  her  myself.  Distangay,  now, 
or  chic,  if  you  understand  what  that  means ! ' ' 

**0h,  quite!"  replied  Mrs.  Jakes  coldly. 

They  were  seated  side  by  side  upon  the  sofa  in  the 
little  parlor  of  the  farm ;  its  dimensions  made  it  impossi- 
ble for  Mrs.  Jakes  to  treat  her  hostess  as  distantly  as 
she  could  have  wished.  There  was  nothing  for  it  but 
to  leave  her  ear  and  her  unresponsive  profile,  composed 
to  a  steadfast  woodenness,  to  the  mercy  of  those  criti- 
cal and  authoritative  whispers  until  deliverance  should 
offer  itself.  She  settled  her  small  black-gowned  figure 
and  coughed  behind  three  gloved  fingers. 

Near  the  window  looking  forth  across  the  kraals,  Mar- 
garet Harding,  the  subject  of  Mrs.  du  Preez 's  com- 
ments, had  the  gaunt  Boer  for  a  companion.  This  was 
her  visit  of  ceremony,  her  ** return  call";  two  or  three 
earlier  visits,  mere  incidents  of  morning  walks,  when 
she  had  stopped  to  talk  to  Paul  and  been  surprised  and 
captured  by  Paul's  mother,  were  understood  not  to 
count,  and  the  Recording  Angel  would  omit  them  from 
his  notes.  Mrs.  du  Preez  had  taken  the  initiative  in 
due  order  by  appearing  at  the  Sanatorium  one  after- 
noon at  tea-time ;  she  had  asked  Dr.  Jakes  if  he  had  *  *  a 
mouth  on  him"  and  Margaret  if  there  were  many  peo- 
ple in  town.     The  next  step  in  the  transaction  was  for 

73 


FLOWER  O'  THE  PEACH     • 

Margaret  to  put  on  a  real  frock  and  a  real  hat,  and  take 
herself  and  her  card-case  through  the  white,  scornful 
sunshine  to  the  farm;  and  behold!  by  virtue  of  this 
solemnity,  two  women  marooned  at  the  heart  of  an 
ocean  of  sun-swamped  desert  had  license  to  distinguish 
one  another  from  common  objects  of  the  country  side. 

Even  Mrs.  Jakes,  whose  attitude  towards  Mrs.  du 
Preez  was  one  of  disapproval  tempered  by  dread,  could 
see  no  alternative  to  this  course.  She  shook  her  head 
at  Margaret's  amusement. 

*  *  This  is  not  London,  of  course, ' '  she  said  reasonably. 
**I  know  that.  But,  my  dear,  we  're  Christian  people 
— even  here." 

At  Margaret's  side,  the  tall  Boer,  Christian  du 
Preez,  leaned  against  the  wall  and  regarded  her  with 
shy,  intent  eyes  that  were  oddly  like  Paul's.  There 
was  lacking  in  him  that  aloof  and  almost  reverent  quality 
of  the  boy  which  made  him  seem  as  though  he  regarded 
all  things  with  an  equal  wonder  and  an  equal  kinship; 
he  was  altogether  harder  and  more  immediately  force- 
ful, a  figure  at  home  in  his  narrow  world;  but  the 
relationship  between  him  and  his  son  was  obvious. 
Margaret  had  only  to  glance  across  the  room  to  where 
Paul  sat  by  the  door,  following  the  trickle  of  conversa- 
tion around  the  room  from  face  to  face  with  his  eyes, 
to  see  the  resemblance.  What  was  common  to  them 
both  was  a  certain  shadowy  reserve,  a  character  of 
relationship  to  the  dumbness  and  significance  of  the 
Karoo,  and  something  else  which  had  the  gloom  of 
melancholy  and  the  power  of  pride.  In  each  of  them 
the  Boer,  the  world's  disinherited  son,  was  salient. 

Mrs.  du  Preez  had  secured  his  presence  to  grace  the 
occasion  after  some  resistance  on  his  part,  for  he  en- 

74 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

tered  the  parlor  seldom  and  was  not  at  his  ease  there. 
Its  atmosphere  of  indoor  formality  daunted  and  op- 
pressed him,  and  he  felt  coarse  and  earth-stained  under 
the  eyes  of  the  serene  young  men  who  watched  him 
from  their  plush  and  fret-work  frames.  He  had 
nothing  to  set  against  their  sleek  beauty  and  their  calm 
sophistication  but  his  fathom  and  odd  inches  of  lean, 
slow-moving  strength,  his  eyes  of  patient  expectancy 
and  the  wild  beard  that  redeemed  his  countenance  from 
mildness.  He  had  come  under  protest  and  for  the  sake 
of  peace,  and  sat  scowling  in  a  chair,  raw  with  shyness 
and  irritation,  in  the  dreadful  interval  between  the 
completion  of  Mrs.  du  Preez's  preparations  and  the  ar- 
rival of  the  guests,  while  in  face  of  him  **  yours 
blithely,  Boy  Bailey, ''  set  him  a  hopeless  example  of 
iron-clad  complacency. 

Then  came  Margaret  and  Mrs.  Jakes,  and  at  the 
first  sign  of  them  he  was  screened  as  in  a  cloud  by  the 
welcome  of  Mrs.  du  Preez.  Their  step  upon  the 
threshold  was  her  cue  for  a  cordiality  of  greeting  that 
filled  the  room  and  overflowed  into  the  passage  in  a 
rapid  crescendo  of  compliment,  inquiries  as  to  health, 
laughter  and  mere  bustle;  it  was  like  the  entrance  of 
two  star  performers  supported  by  a  full  chorus  and 
corps  de  hallet. 

*'So  here  you  are,  the  two  of  you,"  was  her  style. 
**0n  time  to  a  tick,  too!  Come  right  in.  Miss  Harding, 
and  look  out  for  that  step — it  's  a  terror.  A  death- 
trap, I  call  it!  And  you,  Mrs.  Jakes.  I  won't  say 
I  'm  glad  to  see  you,  'cause  you  '11  believe  that  without 
me  telling  you.  You  found  it  pretty  hot  walking,  I 
know;  we  're  all  pretty  warm  members  in  this  com- 
munity,   aren't  we?     Sit  down,   sit   down;   no   extra 

75 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

charge  for  sitting  down,  y'know.  And  now,  how  are 
you  ?  Sitting  up  and  taking  nourishment,  eh  ?  That 's 
the  style!'' 

Margaret  was  aware,  across  her  shoulder,  of  a 
gloomy  male  presence  inhabiting  the  background. 

*'Let  me  introduce  my  husband,"  said  Mrs.  du 
Preez,  following  her  glance.  *' Christian,  this  is  Miss 
Harding.  And  now,  Mrs.  Jakes,  let  you  an'  me  have 
a  sit-down  over  here.  You  first — age  before  innocence, 
y'know.     And  how  's  the  poor  old  doctor?" 

'* Thank  you,"  said  Mrs.  Jakes  firmly,  *'he  is  quite 
well." 

She  smiled  graciously  at  Paul,  who  was  watching  her, 
and  took  her  seat,  resigned  to  martyrdom. 

Christian  du  Preez  gave  the  girl  a  slack  hand  and 
murmured  incoherently  some  salutation,  while  his  gaze 
took  in  avidly  each  feature  of  her  and  summed  up  her 
effect  of  easy  modernity.  He  recognized  in  her  a  cer- 
tain feminine  quality  for  which  he  had  no  name.  Once 
before  he  had  glimpsed  it  as  in  a  revelation,  when,  as 
a  youth  newly  returned  from  service  on  commando 
against  rebellious  Kafirs,  he  had  spent  an  evening  in 
a  small  town  and  there  seen  a  performance  by  a  trav- 
eling theatrical  company.  It  was  a  crude  and  ill- 
devised  show,  full  of  improbable  murders  that 
affronted  the  common-sense  of  a  man  fresh  from 
various  killings;  but  in  an  interval  between  slaughters, 
there  was  a  scene  that  brought  upon  the  stage  a  slim 
girl  who  walked  erect  and  smiled  and  shrugged  easily 
at  the  audience.  Her  part  was  brief ;  she  was  not  visible 
for  more  than  a  few  minutes,  and  assuredly  her  shaft, 
so  soon  sped,  struck  no  one  else.  It  needed  a  Boer, 
with  his  feet  in  the  mud  and  his  head  among  the  stars, 

76 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

to  clothe  her  with  dignity  as  with  a  robe  and  add  to 
her  valuation  of  herself  the  riches  of  his  woman- 
haunted  imagination.  She  passed  from  sight  again, 
and  for  the  time  he  scarcely  regretted  her,  for  she  left 
glamour  behind  her  and  a  vision  of  womanhood 
equipped,  debonnaire,  heart-breaking  in  its  fragility  and 
its  daring. 

The  outcome  of  that  revelation  was  marriage  within 
the  week;  but  it  never  revisited  the  bored  and  weary 
woman  whom  Christian  du  Preez  had  brought  home  to 
his  farm  and  its  solitudes.  It  was  as  though  he  had 
tried  to  pick  an  image  from  still  water;  the  fruit  of 
that  endeavor  was  memory  and  an  empty  hand.  Even 
as  he  greeted  Margaret  he  turned  slowly  and  looked 
from  her  to  his  wife  in  unconscious  comparison,  and 
turned  as  unconsciously  back  again.  Only  Mrs.  du 
Preez  knew  the  meaning  of  that  glance;  she  answered 
it  with  an  obstinate  compression  of  the  mouth  and  went 
on  talking  to  Mrs.  Jakes  about  the  hang  of  Margaret's 
skirt. 

*'It  's  all  right  for  her,'*  she  was  saying.  ** These 
leggy  ones  can  wear  anything.  But  think  how  you  'd 
look  in  it,  f ctr  instance.  Why  you  'd  make  a  horse 
laugh!" 

** Indeed!'*  said  Mrs.  'Jakes,  unhappy  but  bristling. 
She  never  grew  reconciled  to  Mrs.  du  Preez 's  habit  of 
using  her  as  a  horrible  example. 

**You  would  that,"  Mrs.  du  Preez  assured  her. 
'*You  see,  my  dear,  yours  is  an  elderly  style." 

At  the  window,  Margaret  was  doing  what  she  could 
to  thaw  the  tall  Boer  into  talk,  and  meeting  with 
some  success.  He  liked,  while  possibly  he  did  not  quite 
understand,  her  relish  for  the  view  from  the  window, 

77 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

with  the  rude  circles  of  the  kraals  near  at  hand,  the 
scattered  huts  of  the  farm  Kafirs  beyond  them,  and  the 
all-subduing  brown  of  the  Karoo  slipping  forth  to  the 
edge  of  the  sky.  He  had  once  heard  a  young  man  from 
the  Sanatorium  agree  with  Mrs.  du  Preez  that  the 
Karoo  resembled  a  brick-field  established  in  a  cemetery. 
Margaret  did  better  than  that. 

**I  suppose  you  've  traveled  all  over  it?"  she  asked 
him. 

**When  I  was  a  young  man,  I  rode  transport,"  he 
answered.  *  *  Then  I  traveled ;  now  I  sit  still  in  the  mid- 
dle of  it  and  try  to  grow  wool." 

**Is  it  all  like  this?"  she  asked. 

**  Sometimes  there  is  grass — a  little — ^not  much,  and 
milk  bushes  and  prickly  pear,"  he  told  her.  **But  it 
is  hard  ground,  all  of  it.     It  is  very  peaceful,  though." 

She  nodded  comprehendingly,  and  he  found  a  stimu- 
lant in  her  quiet  interest.  He  had  not  PauFs  tense 
absorption  in  the  harvest  of  the  eye,  but  he  would 
have  been  no  Boer  had  the  vacant  miles  not  exercised 
a  power  over  him. 

**You  're  never — discontented  with  it?"  asked  Mar- 
garet.    *'I  mean,  you  find  it  enough  for  you,  without 
wanting  towns  and  all  that?" 

He  shook  his  head,  hesitating.  "I  do  not  know 
towns,"  he  answered.  **No,  I  don't  want  towns.  But 
— every  day  the  same  sights,  and  the  sun  and  the  si- 
lence— " 

**Yes?"  she  asked. 

He  was  little  used  to  confessing  himself  and  his  shy- 
ness was  an  obstacle  to  clear  speech.  Besides,  the  mat- 
ter in  his  mind  was  not  clear  to  himself  j  he  was  aware 

78 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

of  it  as  a  color  to  his  thoughts  rather  than  as  a  fact 
to  be  stated. 

'*It  makes  you  guess  at  things,"  he  said  at  last. 
**You  guess,  but  you  don't  ever  know." 

''What  things?"  asked  Margaret. 

''A  lot  of  things,"  he  answered.  **God,  and  the 
devil,  and  all  that.  It 's  always  there,  you  see,  and  you 
miLSt  think." 

A  rattle  in  the  passage  and  a  start  from  Mrs.  du 
Preez  heralded  tea,  borne  in  upon  a  reverberating  iron 
tray  by  a  timid  and  clumsy  Kafir  maid,  who  set  her 
burden  insecurely  upon  the  table  and  fled  in  panic. 
Christian  du  Preez  ceased  to  speak  as  if  upon  a  signal 
and  Mrs.  du  Preez  entered  the  arena  hospitably. 

**You  're  sure  you  wouldn't  rather  have  something 
else?"  she  asked  Margaret,  as  she  filled  the  cups. 
''There  's  afternoons  when  a  whisky-and-soda  is  more 
in  my  line  than  tea.  Sure  you  won't?  P'r'aps  Mrs. 
Jakes  will,  then?  We  won't  tell,  will  we,  Paul?  Well, 
'ave  it  your  own  way,  only  don't  blame  me!  Christian, 
reach  this  cup  to  Miss  Harding." 

The  tall  man  did  as  he  was  bidden,  ignoring  Mrs. 
Jakes.  In  his  world,  women  helped  themselves.  Paul 
carried  her  cup  to  Mrs.  Jakes  and  sat  down  beside  her 
in  the  place  vacated  by  his  mother.  From  there,  he 
could  see  Margaret  and  look  through  the  window  as 
well. 

"If  you  '11  have  one,  I  '11  keep  you  company,"  sug- 
gested Mrs.  du  Preez  privately  to  Mrs.  Jakes. 

"One  what?"  inquired  Mrs.  Jakes  across  her  cup. 
The  poor  lady  was  feeling  very  grateful  for  the  strong 
tea  to  console  her  nerves. 

n 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

*'One  what!''  Mrs.  du  Preez  was  scornful.  ^^A 
drink,  of  course — a  drink  out  of  a  glass!" 

*^No,  thank  you,"  replied  Mrs.  Jakes  hastily.  ^*I 
never  touch  stimulants. ' ' 

*'0h,  well!"  Mrs.  du  Preez  resigned  herself  to  cir- 
cumstances. *'I  suppose,"  she  enquired,  nodding  to- 
wards Margaret,  '^she  don't  either?" 

**I  believe  not,"  replied  Mrs.  Jakes. 

Mrs.  du  Preez  considered  the  matter.  **You  'd  think 
they  'd  grow  out  of  it,"  she  observed  enigmatically. 
**She  seems  to  be  lively  enough,  too,  in  her  way.  First 
person  I  ever  saw  who  could  make  Christian  talk." 

Christian  was  talking  at  last.  Margaret  had  paused 
to  watch  a  string  of  natives  pass  in  single-file,  after  the 
unsociable  Kafir  fashion,  before  the  window,  going  to- 
wards the  huts,  with  the  sun-gilt  dust  rising  about  them 
in  a  faint  haze.  They  were  going  home  after  their 
day's  work,  and  she  wondered  suddenly  to  what  secret 
joy  of  freedom  they  re-entered  when  the  hours  of  the 
white  man's  dominion  were  over  and  the  coming  of 
night  made  a  black  world  for  the  habitation  of  black 
men. 

*'I  suppose  there  is  no  knowing  what  they  really  feel 
and  think?"  she  suggested. 

That  is  the  South  African  view,  the  white  man's  sur- 
render to  the  impregnable  reserve  of  the  black  races; 
native  opinion  is  only  to  be  gathered  when  the  native 
breaks  bounds.     Christian  du  Preez  nodded. 

*'No,"  he  agreed.  *'I  have  always  been  among  them, 
and  I  have  fought  them,  too ;  but  what  they  think  they 
don't  tell." 

**You  have  fought  them?    How  was  that?" 

'*When  I  was^ young.     On  commando,"  he  explained, 

80 


FLOWER  0'  ^HE  PEACH 

with  his  eyes  on  her.  It  was  luxury  to  see  the  anima- 
tion of  her  pale,  clear-cut  face  as  she  looked  up  and 
waited  for  him  to  go  on. 

"It  was  a  real  war/*  he  answered  her.  '*A  real  war. 
There  was  a  chief — Kamis,  they  called  him — down  there 
in  the  south,  and  his  men  murdered  an  officer.  So 
the  government  called  out  the  burghers  and  sent  Cape 
Mounted  Rifles  with  us  to  go  and  punish  him.  I  was 
twenty  years  old  then,  and  I  went  too.'' 

In  the  background  Mrs.  du  Preez  sniffed.  *'He  's 
telling  her  about  that  old  Kafir  war  of  his,"  she  said. 
"He  always  tells  that  to  young  women.  I  know 
him!'' 

Christian  went  on,  lapsing  as  he  continued  from  the 
careful  English  he  had  spoken  hitherto  to  the  cruder 
vernacular  of  the  Cape.  He  told  of  the  marching  and 
the  quick,  shattering  attack  against  Kafirs  at  bay  in  the 
low  hills  bordering  the  Karoo,  of  a  fight  at  night  in  a 
rain-squall,  when  the  "pot-leg,"  the  Kafir  bullets  ham- 
mered out  of  cold  iron,  sang  in  the  air  like  flutes  and 
made  a  wound  when  they  struck  that  a  man  could  put 
his  fist  into.  His  eyes  shone  with  the  fires  of  warm 
remembrance  as  he  told  of  that  advance  over  grass- 
grown  slopes  slippery  with  wet,  when  the  gay  despera- 
does of  the  Cape  Mounted  Rifles  went  up  singing, 
"Jinny,  my  own  true  loved  one.  Wait  till  the  clouds 
roll  by,"  and  on  their  flank  the  burghers  found 
cover  and  lit  the  night  with  the  flashes  of  their  mus- 
ketry. It  was  an  epic  woven  into  the  fiber  of  the  nar- 
rator's soul,  a  thing  lived  poignantly,  each  moment  of 
it  flavored  on  the  palate  and  the  taste  remembered.  He 
had  been  in  the  final  breathless  rush  that  broke  the 
Kafirs  and  sent  them  scuttling  like  rock-rabbits — *'das- 
6  81 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

sies/'  he  called  them — through  the  rocks  to  the 
kopje-ringed  hollow  where  they  would  be  held  till  morn- 
ing. 

And  then  that  morning! 

**Man,  it  was  cold,"  he  said.  *' There  was  no  fires. 
We  were  lying  in  the  bushes  with  our  rifles  under  our 
bellies  till  coffee-time,  and  that  Lascelles,  our  general, 
walked  up  and  down  behind  us  all  the  night.  He  was 
a  little  old  soldier-officer  from  Capetown;  his  face  was 
red  and  his  mustache  was  white.  The  rain  was  falling 
on  my  back  all  the  time,  but  sometimes  I  slept  a  little. 
And  when  it  was  sun-up,  I  could  see  down  the  krantz 
to  the  veld  below,  and  there  was  all  the  Kafirs  together, 
all  in  a  bunch,  in  the  middle  of  it.  They  didn't  look 
much ;  I  was  surprised  to  see  so  few.  They  were  stand- 
ing and  lying  on  the  wet  grass,  and  they  seemed  tired. 
Some  were  sleeping,  even,  stretched  out  like  dead  men 
below  us,  but  what  made  me  sorry  for  them  was,  they 
were  so  few. 

'*I  was  sorry,*'  he  added,  thoughtfully. 

Margaret  nodded. 

*'But  it  was  a  real  war,"  he  assured  her  quickly. 
*'When  the  sun  was  well  up,  we  moved,  and  presently 
all  the  burghers  were  lying  close  together  with  our  rifles 
ready.  It  was  Lascelles  that  ordered  it.  I  didn't  un- 
derstand, then,  for  I  knew  a  beaten  Kafir  when  I  saw 
one,  and  those  below  were  beaten  to  the  ground.  By 
and  by  the  Cape  Mounted  Rifles  went  past  behind  us,  and 
dipped  down  into  a  hollow  on  our  right;  we  had  only 
to  wait,  and  it  was  very  cold.  I  was  wondering  when 
they  would  let  us  make  coffee  and  talking  to  the  next 
man  about  it,  when  from  our  right,  so  sudden  that  I 
^'umped  up  at  the  sound  of  it,  the  Cape  Mounted  Rifles 

82 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

fired  at  the  Kafirs  down  below.  Man,  that  was  awful! 
It  was  like  a  thunder  on  a  clear  day.  All  of  us  were 
surprised,  and  some  called  out  and  swore  and  said  La- 
scelles  w£is  a  fool.  But  it  was  queer,  all  the  same,  to 
see  the  Kafirs.  Twenty  of  them  was  killed,  and  one 
of  them  had  a  bullet  in  his  stomach  and  rolled  about 
making  screams  like  laughing.  The  rest — they  didn't 
move;  they  didn't  run;  they  didn't  cry  out.  A  few 
looked  up  at  US;  I  tell  you,  it  was  near  enough  to  see 
their  white  eyes;  but  the  others  just  stopped  as  they 
were.  They  was  like  cattle,  like  sick  cattle,  patient  and 
weak  and  finished;  the  Cape  Mounted  Rifles  could  have 
killed  them  all  and  they  wouldn't  have  lifted  their 
hands. 

**Our  commandant — ^Van  Zyl,  he  was  called,  a  very 
fat  man — clicked  with  his  tongue.  *  Wasting  them,'  he 
said.     *  Wasting  them!' 

*'Then  we  went  down  the  hill  and  came  all  round 
them,  standing  among  the  dead  bodies,  and  Lascelles 
with  his  interpreter  and  his  two  young  officers  in  tight 
belts  went  forward  to  look  for  Kamis,  the  chief.  The 
interpreter — he  was  a  yellow-faced  Hollander — called 
out  once,  and  in  the  middle  of  the  Kafirs  there  stood  up 
an  old  Kafir  with  a  blanket  on  his  shoulders  and  his  wool 
all  gray.  He  came  walking  through  the  others  with  a 
little  black  boy,  three  or  four  years  old,  holding  by  liis 
hand  and  making  big  round  eyes  at  us.  It  was  the  son 
that  was  left  to  him ;  the  others,  we  found  out,  were  all 
killed.  He  was  an  old  man  and  walked  bent  and  held 
the  blanket  round  him  with  one  hand.  He  looked  to 
me  like  a  good  old  woman  who  ought  to  have  been  sit- 
ting in  a  chair  in  a  kitchen. 

'*  'Are  you  Kamis?'  they  asked  him. 

83 


FLOWER  0*  THE  PEACH 

*'  *I  am  Kamis,'  he  said,  ^and  this  is  my  son  who  is 
also  Kamis.' 

''He  showed  them  the  little  plump  piccaniii,  who  hung 
back  and  struggled.  One  of  the  young  officers  with 
tight  belts  put  an  eye-glass  in  his  eye  and  laughed. 
Lascelles  did  not  laugh.  He  was  a  little  man,  as  neat 
as  a  lady,  with  ugly,  narrow  eyes. 

**  'Tell  him  he  's  to  be  hanged,'  he  ordered. 

"Old  Kamis  heard  it  without  a  sign,  only  nodding 
as  the  interpreter  translated  it  to  him. 

"  'And  what  will  they  do  to  my  son?'  he  asked. 

"Lascelles  snuffled  in  his  nose  angrily.  'The  Gov- 
ernment will  take  care  of  his  son,'  he  said,  and  turned 
away.  But  when  he  had  gone  a  few  steps  he  turned 
back  again.  'Tell  the  old  chap,'  he  ordered,  'and  tell 
him  plainly,  that  his  son  will  be  taken  care  of.  He  '11 
be  all  right,  he  '11  be  well  looked  after.  Savvy?'  he 
shouted  to  Kamis.  'Piccanin  all  right;  plenty  skoff, 
plenty  mahli,  plenty  everything.' 

"The  Hollander  told  the  old  chief  while  Lascelles 
waited,  and  the  men  of  the  Cape  Mounted  Rifles  who 
had  the  handcuffs  for  him  stood  on  each  side.  Kamis 
heard  it  with  his  head  on  one  side,  as  if  he  was  a  bit 
deaf.  Then  he  nodded  and  put  out  his  hands  for  the 
irons. 

"Lascelles  held  out  his  hands  to  the  baby  Kafir. 

"  'Come  with  me,  kid!'  he  said. 

"The  baby  hung  back.  He  was  scared.  Old  Kamis 
said  something  to  him  and  pushed  him  with  his 
knee,  and  at  last  the  child  went  and  took  Lascelles' 
hand. 

"  'That 's  it,'  said  Lascelles,  and  lifted  him  up.  As 
Jie  carried  him  away,  I  heard  him  talking  to  the  young 

84 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

officer  with  the  eye-glass.  *That  's  a  damned  silly  grin 
you  Ve  got,  Whitburn/  he  said,  'and  you  may  as  well 
know  I  'm  sick  of  it.' 

**I  think  he  was  a  bit  ashamed  of  carrying  the  baby. 
He  hadn't  any  of  his  own.  I  saw  his  wife  later,  when 
we  were  disbanded — a  skinny,  yellow  woman  who  played 
cards  every  evening. 

''And  then,  at  Fereira,  they  hanged  old  Kamis,  while 
we  all  stood  round  with  our  rifles  resting  on  the  ground. 
There  was  a  man  to  hang  him  who  wore  a  mask,  and  I 
was  sorry  about  the  mask,  because  I  thought  I  might 
meet  him  sometime  and  not  know  him  and  be  friends 
with  him.  He  had  red  hair  though;  his  mask  couldn't 
hide  that,  and  there  is  something  about  red  hair  that 
turns  me  cold.  There  were  about  fifty  of  his  tribe  who 
were  brought  there  to  see  the  end  of  Kamis  and  take 
warning  by  him,  and  when  he  came  out  of  the  jail  door, 
between  two  men,  with  his  hands  tied  behind  him,  they 
all  lifted  a  hand  above  their  heads  to  salute  him.  The 
men  on  each  side  of  him  held  him  by  the  elbows  and 
hurried  him  along.  They  took  him  so  fast  that  he 
tripped  his  foot  and  nearly  fell.  'Slower,  you  swine!* 
said  Lascelles,  who  was  there  with  a  sword  on.  He 
walked  across  and  spoke  to  Kamis.  *  Piccanin  all  right ! ' 
he  said,  'AU-a  right!'  said  Kamis,  and  then  they  led 
him  up  the  steps.  They  were  all  about  him  there,  the 
jail  men  and  the  man  with  the  mask;  for  a  minute  I 
couldn't  see  him  at  all.  Then  they  were  away  from 
him,  and  there  was  a  bag  on  his  head  and  the  rope  was 
round  his  neck.  The  man  with  the  mask  seemed  to  be 
waiting,  and  at  last  Lascelles  lifted  his  hand  in  a  tired 
way  and  there  was  a  crash  of  falling  planks  and  a  cry 
from  the  Kafirs,  and  old  Kamis,  as  straight  and  lean 

85 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

as  a  young  man,  was  hanging  under  the  platform  just 
above  the  ground  and  swinging  a  little." 

Christian  du  Preez  frowned  and  looked  at  Margaret 
absently. 

**And  then  I  was  sick/'  he  said  reflectively.  *^ Quite 
sick!'' 

**I  don't  wonder,"  said  Margaret.  **But  the  baby! 
What  happened  to  the  Kafir  baby?" 

*'I  didn't  see  the  baby  any  more,"  replied  the  Boer. 
"But  I  read  in  a  newspaper  that  they  sent  it  to  Eng- 
land.    Perhaps  it  died." 

**But  why  send  it  to  England?"  asked  Margaret. 
''What  could  it  do  there?" 

Christian  du  Preez  shrugged  one  shoulder.  ''The 
Government  sent  it,"  he  replied,  conclusively.  No  Boer 
attempts  to  explain  a  government ;  it  is  his  eternal  unac- 
countable. "You  see  it  was  the  Chief,  that  baby  was, 
so  they  wanted  to  send  it  a  long  way  off,  perhaps. ' ' 

"And  now,  I  suppose  it  's  a  man,"  said  Margaret;  "a 
poor  negro  all  alone  in  London,  who  has  forgotten  his 
own  tongue.  He  wears  shabby  clothes  and  makes 
friends  with  servant  girls,  and  never  remembers  how 
he  held  his  father's  hand  while  you  burghers  and  the  sol- 
diers came  down  the  hillside.  Don't  you  think  that 's 
sad?" 

"Yes,"  said  the  Boer  thoughtfully,  but  without  alac- 
rity, for  after  all  a  Kafir  is  a  Kafir  and  his  place  in  the 
sympathies  of  his  betters  is  a  small  one.  "Kafirs 
look  ugly  in  clothes,"  he  added  after  a  moment. 

At  the  other  side  of  the  room,  the  others  had  ceased 
their  talk  to  listen.  Mrs.  du  Preez  laughed  a  little 
harshly. 

"They  're  worse  in  boots,"  she  volunteered.    "Ever 

86 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

seen  a  nigger  with  boots  on,  Miss  Harding?  He  walks 
as  if  his  feet  weighed  a  ton.  Make  a  clatter  like  clog- 
dancin'.  But  round  here,  of  course,  there  's  no  boots 
for  them  to  get." 

''There  *s  one  now,"  said  Margaret.  "Look — he  's 
passing  the  kraals.     He  's  got  boots  on." 

They  all  looked  with  a  quick  curiosity  that  was  a  little 
strange  to  see ;  one  would  have  thought  a  passing  Kafir 
would  scarcely  have  interested  them  by  any  eccentricity 
of  attire.  Even  Mrs.  Jakes  rose  from  her  place  on  the 
sofa  and  stood  on  tip-toe  to  see  over  Mrs.  du  Preez's 
shoulders.  There  is  an  instinct  in  the  South  African 
which  makes  him  conscious,  in  his  dim,  short-sighted 
way,  that  over  against  him  there  looms  the  passive,  irrec- 
oncilable power  of  the  black  races.  He  is  like  a  man  car- 
rying a  lantern,  with  the  shifting  circle  of  light  about 
him,  and  at  its  frontier  the  darkness  pregnant  with 
presences. 

The  Boer,  learned  in  Kafir  varieties,  stared  under 
puckered  brows  at  the  single  figure  passing  below  the 
kraals.  He  marked  not  so  much  any  unusual  feature 
in  it  as  the  absence  of  things  that  were  usual. 

"Paul,"  he  said,  "go  an'  see  what  he  's  after." 

Paul  was  already  at  the  door,  going  out  silently.  He 
paused  to  nod. 

"I  'm  going  now,"  he  said. 

"Strange  Kafirs  want  lookin'  after,"  explained  Mrs. 
du  Preez  to  Margaret  as  the  boy  passed  the  window  out- 
side. "You  never  know  what  they  're  up  to.  Hang 
out  your  wash  when  they  're  around  and  you  're  short 
of  linen  before  you  know  where  you  are,  and  there  's  a 
nigger  on  the  trek  somewhere  in  a  frilled  petticoat  or 
a  table-cloth.    They  don't  care  what  it  isj  anything  '11 

87 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

do  for  them.  "Why,  last  year  one  of  'em  sneaked  a  skirt 
off  Mrs.  Jakes  here.     Didn't  he,  now?" 

*'It  was  a  very  good  skirt,"  said  Mrs.  Jakes,  flush- 
ing.    ^'A  very  good  one — not  even  turned." 

*^Well,  he  was  in  luck,  then,"  said  Mrs.  du  Preez. 
**And  what  he  looks  like  in  it — well,  I  give  it  up !  Miss 
Harding,  you  ain't  going  yet,  surely?" 

*'I  'm  afraid  /  must,"  put  in  Mrs.  Jakes,  seizing  her 
opportunity.     '*I  have  to  see  about  dinner." 

They  shook  hands  all  round.  **You  must  all  come 
up  to  tea  with  me  some  afternoon  soon,"  suggested  Mar- 
garet.    **You  will  come,  won't  you?" 

**Will  a  duck  swim?"  inquired  Mrs.  du  Preez,  geni- 
ally. **  You  just  try  us.  Miss  Harding.  And  oh !  if  you 
want  to  say  good-by  to  Paul,  I  know  where  he  's  gone. 
He  '11  be  down  under  the  dam,  makin'  mud  pies.*' 

''Not  really?" 

**You  just  step  down  and  see;  it  won't  take  you  a 
moment.  He  makes  things,  y'know;  he  made  a  sort  of 
statue  of  me  once.  *If  that  's  like  me,'  I  told  him,  *it  's 
lucky  I  'm  off  the  stage.'  And  what  d  'you  think  he 
had  the  cheek  to  answer  me?  'Mother,'  he  says,  'when 
you  forget  what  you  look  like,  you  look  like  this.'  " 

"I  think  I  will  just  say  good-by  to  Paul,"  said  Mar- 
garet, glancing  at  Mrs.  Jakes. 

"Come  on  after  me,  then,"  answered  the  doctor's 
wife.    "I  really  must  fly." 

"Pigs  might  fly,"  suggested  Mrs.  du  Preez,  enig- 
matically. 

The  Boer  did  not  go  to  the  door  with  them ;  he  waited 
where  he  stood  while  Mrs.  du  Preez,  her  voice  waxing 
through  the  leave-takings  to  a  shrill  climax  of  farewell, 
accompanied  them  to  her  borders.    When  she  returned 

88 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

to  the  little  room,  he  was  still  standing  in  his  place, 
returning  ^'Boy  Bailey's"  glazed  stare  with  gloomy  in- 
tensity. 

His  wife  looked  curiously  at  him  as  she  moved  to  the 
table  and  began  to  put  the  scattered  tea-cups  together 
on  the  tray. 

*'She  's  a  nice  girl,  Christian,"  she  said,  as  she  gath- 
ered them  up. 

He  did  not  answer,  though  he  heard.  She  went  on 
with  her  work  till  the  tray  was  ready  to  be  carried 
forth,  glancing  at  his  brooding  face  under  her  eyebrows. 

*' Christian,"  she  said  suddenly.  "I  remember  when 
you  told  me  about  the  war  and  the  Kafir  baby." 

He  gave  her  an  absent  look.  **You  said,  *Hang  the 
Kafir  baby ! '  "  he  answered. 

He  turned  from  her,  with  a  last  resentful  glare  at  the 
plump  perfection  of  Boy  Bailey,  and  slouched  heavily 
from  the  room.  Mrs.  du  Preez,  with  a  pursed  mouth, 
watched  him  go  in  silence. 

Mrs.  Jakes  was  resolute  in  her  homeward  intentions; 
she  had  a  presentiment  of  trouble  in  the  kitchen  which 
turned  out  to  be  well  grounded.  So  Margaret  went 
alone  along  the  narrow  rut  of  a  path  which  ran  down 
towards  the  shining  water  of  the  dam,  which  the  slant- 
ing sun  transmuted  to  a  bath  of  gold.  She  was  glad 
of  the  open  air  again,  after  Mrs.  du  Preez 's  carefully 
guarded  breathing-mixture  with  its  faint  odor  of  furni- 
ture polish  and  horsehair.  Paul,  by  the  way,  knew 
that  elusive  fragrance  as  the  breath  of  polite  life ;  it  be- 
longed to  the  parlor,  where  his  father  might  not  smoke, 
and  to  nowhere  else,  and  its  usual  effect  was  to  rarefy 
human  intercourse  to  the  point  of  inanity.  In  the  par- 
lor, one  spoke  in  low  tones  and  dared  not  clear  one's 

89 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

throat  and  felt  like  an  abortion  and  a  monstrosity. 
Years  afterwards,  when  the  doors  of  the  world  had 
been  forced  and  it  had  turned  out  to  be  a  smallish  place, 
only  passably  upholstered,  it  needed  but  a  sniff  of  that 
odor  to  make  his  hands  suddenly  vast  and  unwieldy 
and  reduce  him  to  silence  and  discomfort. 

The  path  skirted  the  dam,  at  the  edge  of  which  grew 
rank  grass,  and  dipped  to  turn  the  corner  of  the  slop- 
ing wall  of  earth  and  stones  at  its  deeper  end.  As  she 
went,  she  stooped  to  pick  up  a  fragment  of  sun-dried 
clay  that  caught  her  eye ;  it  had  been  part  of  a  face,  and 
on  it  the  mouth  still  curved.  It  was  rudely  done,  but 
it  was  there,  and  it  had,  even  the  broken  fragment  that 
lacked  the  interpretation  of  its  context,  some  touch  of 
free  vigor  that  arrested  her  in  the  act  of  letting  it  drop. 
She  went  on  carrying  it  in  her  hand,  and  at  the  corner 
of  the  wall  stopped  again  at  the  sound  of  voices.  Some 
one  was  talking  only  twenty  paces  away,  hidden  from 
her  by  the  bulk  of  the  wall. 

**You  must  shape  it  in  the  lump,"  she  heard.  **You 
must  go  for  the  mass.  That  's  everything — ^the  mass ! 
Do  you  see  what  I  mean?'* 

She  knew  the  tones,  the  clear  modulations  of  the  pun- 
dit-speech which  belonged  to  her  class,  but  there  was 
another  quality  in  the  voice  that  was  only  vaguely  fa- 
miliar to  her,  which  she  could  not  identify.  It  brought 
to  her  mind,  by  some  unconscious  association,  the  lum- 
bering gaiety  of  Fat  Mary. 

*'Ye-es,"  very  slowly.  That  was  PauPs  voice  an- 
swering.    **Yes.     Like  you  see  it  in  the  distance.'' 

*'That  's  it,"  the  baffling  voice  spoke  again.  *'That  's 
it  exactly.  And  work  the  clay  like  this,  without  break- 
ing it,  smoothly." 

90 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

She  still  held  the  broken  fragment  in  her  hand  as  she 
stepped  round  the  corner  of  the  wall  to  look.  Paul, 
sitting  cross-legged  on  the  ground,  had  his  back  to  her, 
and  facing  him,  with  a  lump  of  red  clay  between  his 
hands,  which  moved  upon  it  deliberately,  molding  it 
with  care,  sat  a  Kafir.  He  was  intent  upon  his  work, 
and  the  brim  of  his  hat,  overhanging  his  eyes,  prevented 
him  from  seeing  her  arrival.  She  stood  for  a  moment 
watching ;  the  two  of  them  made  a  still  group  to  which 
all  the  western  sky  and  the  wide  land  were  a  back- 
ground. And  then  the  clay  fragment  dropped  from  her 
hand,  hit  on  a  stone  underfoot  and  cracked  into  pieces 
that  dissolved  the  dumb  curve  of  the  mouth  in  ruin. 

At  the  little  noise  it  made,  Paul  turned  sharply  and 
the  Kafir  raised  his  head  and  looked  at  her.  There  was 
an  instant  of  puzzled  staring  and  then  the  Kafir  lifted 
his  hat  to  her. 

**I  '11  be  going,''  he  said,  and  began  to  rise  to  his 
feet. 

'* Don't,"  said  Paul.  ** Don't  go."  He  was  looking 
at  the  girl  expectantly,  waiting  for  her  to  justify  her- 
self. Now  was  the  time  to  confirm  his  faith  in  her. 
** Don't  go,"  he  repeated.  ''It  's  Miss  Harding  that  I 
told  you  about."  He  hesitated  a  moment,  and  now 
his  eyes  appealed  to  her.  **She  's  from  London,"  he 
said;  **she  '11  understand." 

The  Kafir  waited,  standing  up,  a  slender,  upright 
young  man  in  worn  discolored  clothes.  To  Margaret 
then,  as  to  Paul  in  his  first  encounter  with  him  at  the 
station,  there  was  a  shock  in  the  pitiful,  gross  negro  face 
that  went  with  the  pleasant,  cultivated  voice.  It 
added  something  slavish  to  his  travel-stained  appear- 
ance that  touched  the  girl's  quick  pity. 

91 


FLOWER  0^  THE  PEACH 

She  stepped  forward  impulsively. 

'* Please  don't  go,"  she  begged,  **I  should  be  so  sorry. 
And  Paul  will  introduce  us." 

He  smiled.  *'It  shall  be  as  you  like,  of  course,"  he 
answered.  **Will  you  sit  down?  The  grass  is  always 
dry  here." 

He  made  an  oddly  conventional  gesture,  as  though 
the  slope  of  the  dam  wall  were  a  chair  and  he  were  go- 
ing to  place  it  for  her. 

**0h,  thanks,"  said  Margaret,  and  sat  down. 


92 


CHAPTER  VI 

THE  Kafir  seated  himself  again  in  his  old  place  and 
let  his  hand  fall  upon  the  mass  of  clay  which  he 
had  been  fashioning  for  Paul's  instruction.  He  was 
the  least  perturbed  of  the  three  of  them.  He  sank 
his  finger-tops  in  the  soft  plasticity  of  the  stuff,  and 
smiled  across  it  at  the  others,  at  the  boy,  embarrassed 
and  not  sure  of  Margaret  yet,  and  at  her,  still  mastered 
by  her  curiosity.  It  was  almost  as  if  he  were  used  to 
being  regarded  with  astonishment,  and  his  self-posses- 
sion had  a  touch  of  that  deliberate  lime-lit  quality  which 
distinguishes  the  private  lives  of  preachers  and  actors 
and  hunchbacks. 

For  the  rest,  he  seemed  to  be  about  Margaret's  age, 
clean  run  and  of  the  middle  stature.  Watching  him, 
Margaret  was  at  a  loss  to  discover  what  it  was  about 
him  that  seemed  so  oddly  commonplace  and  familiar  till 
she  noted  his  clothes.  They  were  ** tweeds."  Though 
he  had  apparently  slept  on  the  bare  ground  in  them 
and  made  them  a  buffer  between  his  skin  and  many 
emergencies  of  travel,  they  were  still  tweeds,  such  as 
any  sprightly  youth  of  Bayswater  might  affect  for  a 
week-end  in  the  country. 

It  needed  only  a  complexion  and  an  attitude  to  ren- 
der him  inconspicuous  on  a  golf-course,  but  in  that  place, 
under  the  majestic  sun,  with  the  heat-dazzle  of  the 
Karoo  at  his  back,  his  very  clothes  made  him  the  more 
incomprehensible. 


FLOWER  0*  THE  PEACH 

Margaret  realized  that  he  was  waiting  for  her  to 
speak. 

**  You  model,  then?' 'she  asked,  striving  to  speak  in  an 
altogether  matter-of-fact  tone,  as  though  to  come  across 
gifted,  English-speaking  negroes,  giving  art  lessons  in 
odd  corners,  were  nothing  unusual. 

*'Just  a  little,"  he  answered.  *' Enough  to  help  Paul 
to  make  a  beginning.     Eh,  Paul?" 

Paul  nodded,  turning  to  Margaret.  *'He  knows 
lots,"  he  said.  ''He  ^s  been  in  London,  too.  It  was 
there  he  learned  to — to  model." 

Paul  had  a  way  of  uttering  the  word  *' London" 
which  conveyed  to  Margaret's  ready  sympathies  some 
little  part  of  what  it  meant  to  him,  the  bright  unattain- 
able home  of  wonderful  activities,  the  land  of  heart's 
desire. 

''In  London?"  She  turned  to  the  Kafir,  "London 
seems  a  long  way  from  here,  doesn't  it?" 

"Yes;  a  long  way."  He  was  not  smiling  now.  "It 
is  seven  months  since  I  left  London,"  he  said;  "and 
already  it  seems  dim  and  unreal.  It 's  as  if  I  'd 
dreamed  about  it  and  only  remembered  parts  of  my 
dream. ' ' 

Paul  was  listening  with  that  profound  attention  he 
seemed  to  give  to  all  things. 

"I  don't  feel  it  's  as  far  as  all  that,"  said  Margaret. 
"But  then,  I  was  there  two  months  ago.  Probably  that 
makes  a  difference." 

She  was  only  now  beginning  to  realize  the  strange- 
ness of  the  encounter,  and  as  she  talked  her  faculties, 
taken  by  ambush  and  startled  from  their  functions,  re- 
gained their  alertness.  She  watched  him  composedly 
as  he  replied. 

M 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

**Tes,''  he  said.  ^*And  there  are  other  differences, 
too.  Since  I  left  London  I  have  not  slept  under  a 
roof.'^ 

While  he  spoke  he  did  not  cease  to  finger  the  clay; 
as  he  turned  it  here  and  there,  Margaret  was  able  to  see 
it  was  the  head  of  a  negro  that  he  was  shaping  and  the 
work  was  already  well  forward.  It  was,  indeed,  the 
same  head  whose  unexpected  scowl  had  astonished  Paul ; 
and  as  he  moved  it  about,  the  still  gloomy  face  of  clay 
seemed  to  glance  backward  and  forward  as  though  it 
heard  him  and  doubted. 

**But  why  not?"  demanded  Margaret. 

He  seemed  to  hesitate  before  answering,  and  mean- 
while his  hands  were  busy  and  deft. 

**Why  not?"  she  repeated.  *' Seven  months!  I 
don't  understand.  Why  have  n't  you  slept  under  a  roof 
all  that  time?" 

**Well!"  He  smiled  as  he  spoke  at  last.  '*You  see 
— I  don't  speak  Kafir.  That 's  where  the  trouble  is. 
When  first  I  came  up  here,  I  went  across  to  the  southern 
districts,  where  Kafirs  are  pretty  numerous.  My  idea 
was  to  live  among  them,  in  order  to — well,  to  carry  out 
an  idea  of  mine." 

He  paused.  ^'They  didn't  know  what  to  make  of 
you?"  suggested  Margaret. 

**No — unless  it  was  a  corpse,"  he  answered.  "I 
don't  really  blame  them;  they  must  have  been  horribly 
suspicious  of  me.  At  the  first  kraal  I  came  to — the  first 
village,  that  is — I  tried  to  make  myself  known  to  a 
splendid  old  chap,  sitting  over  a  little  fire,  who  seemed 
to  be  in  charge.  That  was  awfully  queer.  Every  man, 
woman  and  child  in  the  place  stood  round  and  stared 
and  made  noises  of  distrust — that 's  what  they  sounded 

95 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

like ;  and  the  old  chap  just  squatted  in  the  middle  and 
blinked  up  at  me  without  a  word.  I  'd  heard  that  most 
of  the  Kafirs  about  here  could  understand  a  little  Eng- 
lish, so  I  just  talked  away  and  tried  to  look  innocent 
and  useful  and  I  hoped  I  was  making  the  right  im- 
pression. The  chap  listened  profoundly  till  I  had  quite 
done,  looking  as  though  he  were  taking  in  every  word 
of  it.  Then  he  lifted  both  arms,  with  exactly  the  move- 
ment of  a  cock  when  it  's  going  to  crow,  and  two  young 
fellows  behind  him  leaned  down  and  took  hold  of  them 
and  helped  him  very  slowly  to  his  feet.  I  made  sure 
I  'd  done  the  trick  and  that  he  was  getting  up  to  shake 
hands  or  something.  But  instead  of  that  he  groped 
about  with  his  right  hand  in  a  blind,  helpless  kind  of 
way,  till  one  of  his  private  secretaries  put  a  knobherry, 
a  bludgeon  with  a  knob  on  the  end,  into  it.  And  then, 
the  poor  old  thing  who  had  to  be  helped  to  his  feet  took 
one  quick  step  in  my  direction  and  landed  me  a  bang 
on  the  head  with  the  club.  I  just  remember  that  all  the 
others  burst  into  screams  of  laughter ;  I  must  have  heard 
them  as  I  went  down. ' ' 

**What  a  horrible  thing !'^  exclaimed  Margaret. 

He  smiled  again,  his  teeth  flashing  brilliantly  in  his 
black  face. 

*  *  It  was  awkward  at  the  time, ' '  he  admitted.  *  *  I  came 
to  later  on  the  veld  where  they  dragged  me,  with  a 
lump  on  my  head  the  size  of  my  fist.  And  sore — by 
Jove !  I  was  sore.  Still,  it 's  just  possible  I  might 
have  gone  back  for  another  try,  if  the  first  thing  I 
saw  hadn't  been  a  tall  black  gentleman  sitting  at 
the  entrance  to  the  kraal  with  an  assegai — a  spear, 
that  is — ready  for  me.  I  concluded  it  wasn't  good 
enough!" 

96 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

'*No!''  Margaret  agreed  with  him.  *'I  should  think 
not.     But  why  should  they  receive  you  like  that?" 

*' Perhaps,"  he  suggested,  **they  learned  it  from  the 
white  men!" 

(**He  means  to  look  ironical,"  Margaret  thought. 
**It  isn^t  a  leer;  it's  irony  handicapped  by  a  negro 
face.     Poor  thing!") 

*'Then  you  had  a  bad  time  somewhere  else?"  she 
asked  aloud.  *' Would  you  mind  telling  how?  If  you 
would,  please  don't  tell  me.    But  I  'd  like  to  hear." 

**Then  you  shall.  Of  course  you  shall."  The  look 
that  tried  to  be  ironical  vanished.  **If  you  could  only 
know  how  grateful  I  am  for — for  this — for  just  your 
politeness.     For  you  being  what  you  are — " 

** Please,"  interrupted  Margaret.  *' Please  don't.  I 
want  to  hear.     Just  tell  me." 

There  was  something  pathetic  in  his  prompt  obedi- 
ence. He  shifted  ground  at  once  like  a  child  that  is 
snubbed. 

**It  was  in  Capetown,"  he  said;  '*when  I  landed  from 
the  boat.  There  was  trouble  on  the  boat,  too ;  it  was  full 
of  South  Africans,  and  I  had  to  have  my  meals  alone 
and  only  use  the  deck  at  certain  hours.  I  could  n  't  even 
put  my  name  down  for  a  sovereign  in  the  subscription 
they  raised  for  the  ship's  band;  the  others  wouldn't 
have  it.  I  only  got  rid  of  that  sovereign  on  the  last 
evening,  when  the  leader  of  the  band  came  to  me  as  I 
walked  up  and  down  on  the  boat  deck.  He  passed  me 
once  or  twice  before  he  stopped  to  speak  to  me — making 
sure  that  nobody  was  looking.  *  Hurry  up ! '  he  said,  in  a 
whisper.  *  Where  's  the  quid  you  was  going  to  sub- 
scribe?' *Say  Sir!'  I  said — for  the  fun  of  the  thing. 
He  couldn't  manage  it  for  fully  a  minute;  his  share 
7  97 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

of  it  wasn't  more  than  half-a-crown.  I  went  on  walk- 
ing and  left  him  where  I  stood,  but  as  I  came  back  again 
he  was  ready  for  me.  'No  offense,  sir,'  he  said,  quite 
clearly.  I  gave  him  the  money  and  passed  on.  But 
he  was  still  there  when  I  turned  again,  and  ever  so  anx- 
ious to  put  himself  right  with  his  conscience.  *D'you 
know  what  I  'd  do  with  you  niggers  if  I  had  my  way?' 
he  began,  still  in  a  large  hoarse  whisper,  like  air  escap- 
ing from  a  pipe.  *I  'd  'ave  you  back  into  slavery,  I 
would.  I  'd  sell  the  lot  of  you.'  I  laughed.  *You 
couldn't  buy  many  of  us  with  that  sovereign!'  I  told 
him.     Really,  I  rather  liked  that  man." 

''There  are  men  like  that,"  said  Margaret  thought- 
fully.    ' '  And  women,  too. ' ' 

"Yes,  aren't  there?"  he  agreed  quickly.  "But  I  'd 
rather — it  's  a  pity  you  should  know  it.  However,  you 
wanted  to  hear  about  Capetown." 

The  afternoon  was  waning ;  the  Kafir,  with  his  hat  at 
the  back  of  his  head  and  the  rim  of  its  brim  framing  his 
patient  face,  was  set  against  a  skyful  of  melting  color. 
Even  in  face  of  those  two  attentive  hearers,  he  sat  as 
though  in  an  immense  and  significant  isolation,  imposing 
himself  upon  them  by  virtue  of  his  strong  aloofness. 
Margaret  was  conscious  of  a  great  gulf  set  between  them, 
an  unbridgable  hiatus  of  spirit  and  purpose.  The  man 
saw  the  life  of  the  world  not  from  above  or  below  but 
as  through  a  barred  window,  from  a  room  in  which  he 
was  prisoned  and  solitary. 

He  was  entirely  matter-of-fact  as  he  told  of  his  trou- 
bles and  difficulties  when  he  landed  in  Capetown;  he 
spoke  of  them  as  things  accepted,  calliog  for  no  comment. 
On  the  steamer  from  England  he  had  been  told  of  the 
then  recent  experiences  of  a  concert  party  of  Amer- 

.93 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

lean  negroes  who  visited  Africa  and  had  been  obliged 
to  sleep  in  the  streets,  but  the  tale  had  the  sound  of  a 
smoking-room  ingenuity  and  had  not  daunted  him.  But 
it  was  true  for  all  that  and  he  ran  full-tilt  into  the  ap- 
plication of  it,  when  nightfall  of  the  day  of  his  arrival 
found  him  still  seeking  vainly  for  a  lodging.  He  had 
money  in  plenty,  but  neither  money  nor  fair  words 
availed  to  bribe  an  innkeeper  into  granting  him  a  bed. 

**But  I  saw  a  lot  of  Capetown,''  he  said.  **I  walked 
that  afternoon  and  evening  full  twenty  miles — once  all 
the  way  out  to  Sea  Point  and  back  again.  And  I  was 
perhaps  a  little  discouraged:  there  were  so  many  diffi- 
culties I  hadn't  expected.  I  knew  quite  well  before  I 
left  England  that  I  should  have  difficulties  with  the 
whites,  but  I  hadn't  allowed  for  practically  the  same 
difficulties  with  the  blacks.  There  was  a  place  behind 
the  railway  station,  a  tumble-down  house  in  which  about 
a  dozen  Kafirs  were  living,  and  I  tried  that.  They 
fetched  a  policeman  who  ordered  me  away,  and  I  had 
to  go.  You  see,  they  could  n't  make  head  or  tail  of  me ; 
I  was  much  too  unusual  for  them  to  keep  company  with. 
So  about  midnight  I  found  myself  walking  down  to- 
wards the  jetty  at  the  foot  of  Adderly  Street.  You 
don't  know  Capetown,  I  suppose?  The  jetty  sticks  out 
into  the  bay;  it  's  no  great  use  except  for  a  few  boats 
to  land  and  at  night  it  serves  the  purpose  of  the  Thames 
Embankment  for  men  who  have  nowhere  else  to  go.  I 
was  very  tired  by  then.  As  I  passed  the  Van  Riebeck 
statue,  a  woman  spoke  to  me." 

He  hesitated,  examining  Margaret's  listening  face, 
doubtfully. 

'  *  I  understand, ' '  she  said.  ' '  Go  on.  A  white  woman, 
was  it?" 

99 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

*'Yes,  a  white  woman, '*  he  replied  with  the  first  touch 
of  bitterness  she  had  seen  in  him.  *'A  poor  devil  who 
had  fallen  so  far  that  she  had  lost  even  the  scruples  of 
her  trade.  I  heard  her  coughing  in  the  shadow  when 
she  was  some  distance  from  me,  and  saw  her  come  out 
into  the  lamplight  still  breathless,  with  the  shadows  mak- 
ing a  ruin  of  her  poor  painted  face.  But  she  had  her- 
self in  hand ;  she  was  game.  At  the  moment  I  was  near 
enough,  she  smiled — I  suppose  the  last  thing  they  forget 
is  how  to  smile.  *Koos!'  she  called  to  me,  softly. 
*Koos!'  *Koos'  is  the  Taal  for  cousin,  you  know;  it  *s  a 
sort  of  familiar  address.  I  couldn't  pass  her  without 
a  word,  so  I  stopped.  *You  ought  to  see  to  that  cough,* 
I  told  her.  She  was  horribly  surprised,  of  course,  and 
I  rather  think  she  started  to  bolt,  but  her  cough  stopped 
her.  It  was  a  bad  case,  that — a  very  bad  case,  and  of 
course  she  was  n  't  sufficiently  clad  or  nourished.  I  ad- 
vised her  to  get  home  to  bed,  and  she  leaned  against  the 
wall  wiping  her  eyes  with  the  comer  of  her  handkerchief 
wrapped  round  her  finger  so  as  not  to  smudge  the  paint, 
and  stared  at  me  with  a  sort  of  surrender.  I  got  her  to 
believe  at  last  that  I  was  what  I  said — a  doctor — *' 

^'Are  you  a  doctor?"  interrupted  Margaret. 

'*Yes,''  he  answered.  ''I  hold  the  London  M.B.;  oh, 
I  knew  what  I  was  talking  about.  When  she  under- 
stood it,  she  changed  at  once.  She  was  pretty  near  the 
end  of  her  tether,  and  now  she  had  a  chance,  her  first 
chance,  to  claim  some  one's  pity.  The  lives  they  lead, 
those  poor  smirched  things!  She  had  a  landlady;  can 
you  imagine  that  landlady?  And  unless  she  brought 
money  with  her,  she  could  not  even  go  back  to  her  lodg- 
ings. She  told  me  all  about  it,  coughing  in  between, 
under   the   windows   of   a   huge   shopful   of   delicate 

100 


FL0WEB,-0'.THE,BB4^..:  :  /. 

women's  wear,  with  a  big  arc-light  spluttering  above 
the  empty  street  and  Van  Riebeck  looking  over  our  heads 
to  Table  Mountain.  "Wasn't  it  strange — us  two  home- 
less people,  cast  out  by  our  own  folk  and  rejected  by  the 
other  color?" 

**Yes,"  answered  the  girl;  ''very  strange  and  sad." 

'  *  It  was  like  a  dream, ' '  said  the  Kafir.  ' '  It  was  weird. 
But  I  like  the  idea  that  she  accosted  a  possible  customer 
and  found  a  deliverer.  I  gave  her  the  money  she  needed, 
of  course,  and  listened  to  her  lungs  and  wrote  her  a  pre- 
scription on  the  back  of  a  card  she  produced.  No 
real  use,  you  know — ^just  something  to  go  on  with.  She 
was  past  any  real  help.  No  use  going  into  details, 
but  it  was  a  bad  case ! ' ' 

He  shook  his  head  thoughtfully,  in  a  mood  of  gloom. 

*'And  then?"  asked  Margaret. 

**0h,  then  she  went  away,"  he  said,  *'and  I  watched 
her  go.  She  crossed  the  road,  holding  up  her  skirt  clear 
of  the  mud;  she  was  a  neat,  appealing  little  figure  in 
spite  of  everything.  She  passed  with  her  head  drooped 
to  the  corner  opposite  and  there  she  turned  and  waved 
her  hand  to  me,  I  waved  back  and  she  went  into  the 
shadows.  She  's  in  the  Valley  of  the  Shadows  now, 
though;  she  hadn't  far  to  go. 

**But  you  can't  conceive  how  still  and  wonderful  it 
was  on  the  jetty,  with  the  water  all  round  and  the  moon 
making  a  broad  track  of  beams  across  it,  and  over  the 
bay  the  bulk  of  inland  hills  massive  and  inscrutable.  It 
was  like  looking  at  Africa  from  a  great  distance;  and 
yet,  you  know,  I  was  bom  here!" 

His  hands  had  fallen  idle  on  the  clay,  but  as  he  ceased 
to  speak  he  began  to  work  again,  with  eyes  cast  down  to 
his  task.    The  light  was  already  failing,  and  as  the  three 

101 


,  ^  FLOWE J^  Q'  TITE  PEACH 

of  them  waited  in  the  silence  that  followed  on  his  words, 
there  reached  them  the  dull  pulse  of  the  gourd-drum  at 
the  farm,  stealing  upon  their  consciousness  gradually. 
Paul  frowned  as  he  recognized  it,  coming  out  of  the 
trance  of  his  faculties  unwillingly.  He  had  sat  motion- 
less with  parted  lips  through  the  Kafir's  story,  so  still  in 
his  absorption  that  the  others  had  forgotten  his  pres- 
ence. 

**That  's  for  me,"  he  said,  slowly,  but  took  his  time 
about  getting  up.  He  was  looking  at  the  Kafir  with  the 
solemn,  sincere  eyes  of  a  child. 

**I  would  like,"  he  said,  *'to  make  a  clay  of  that 
woman. ' ' 

*'Eh!"  The  Kafir  suppressed  his  smile.  ''Time 
enough,  Paul.  Plenty  of  time  and  plenty  of  clay  for 
you  to  do  that — and  plenty  of  women,  too. ' ' 

Paul  was  on  his  feet  by  now,  looking  down  at  the 
other  two. 

"But,"  he  hesitated,  "I  must  make  it,"  he  said.  "I 
must. ' ' 

The  Kafir  nodded.  "All  right,"  he  said.  "You 
make  it,  Paul,  and  show  it  to  me.  As  you  see  her,  you 
know ;  that  's  how  you  must  do  it. ' ' 

"Yes,"  said  Paul  seriously.  "Brave  and  smiling  and 
dying.     I  know!" 

The  gourd-drum  throbbed  insistently.  He  moved  to- 
wards it  reluctantly.     "Good  night,"  he  said. 

"Goodnight,  Paul!" 

A  moment  later  he  was  vague  in  the  growing  dusk, 
and  they  heard  his  long  whistle  of  answer  to  the  drum. 

Margaret,  with  her  chin  propped  on  her  hand,  sat  on 
the  slope  of  the  wall.  The  Kafir  began  to  put  away 
the  clay  on  which  he  had  been  working,    Paul's  store 

102 


FLOWER  0^  THE  PEACH 

•was  an  abandoned  ant-bear's  hole  across  which  there 
trailed  the  broad  dry  leaves  of  a  tenacious  gourd.  He 
put  the  unfinished  head  carefully  in  this  receptacle,  and 
then  drew  from  it  another  object,  which  he  held  out  to 
the  girl. 

*'A  bit  of  Paul's  work,"  he  explained. 

She  took  it  in  her  hand,  but  for  the  time  being  her  in- 
terest in  the  immaturities  of  art  gave  place  to  the  strange 
realities  in  whose  presence  she  felt  herself  to  be.  She 
glanced  at  it  perfunctorily,  a  little  sketch  of  a  woman 
carrying  a  basket,  well  observed  and  sympathetic. 

**Yes,"  she  answered.  **He  has  a  real  gift.  But  just 
now  I  can't  think  about  that.     I  'm  thinking  about  you. ' ' 

**I  've  saddened  you,"  he  said.  **I  didn't  want  to 
do  that.  I  should  have  held  my  tongue.  But  if  you 
could  know  what  it  means  to  talk  to  you  at  all,  you  'd 
forgive  me.  I  'm  not  regretting,  you  know;  I  'm  going 
through  it  of  my  own  free  will ;  but  it  's  a  lonely  busi- 
ness. I  'm  always  glad  of  a  tramp  making  his  way  along 
the  railway  line,  and  Paul  was  a  godsend.  But  you! 
Oh,  you  '11  never  understand  how  splendid  it  is  to  tell 
you  anything  and  have  you  listen  to  it." 

He  spoke  almost  himibly,  but  with  a  warmth  of  sin- 
cerity that  moved  her. 

'*You  '11  have  to  tell  me  more,"  she  said.  ''You  '11 
be  coming  here  again  ? ' ' 

** Indeed  I  will,"  he  replied  quickly.  ''I  '11  be  here 
often,  if  only  in  the  hope  that  you  '11  come  down  to  the 
dam  sometimes.    But — there  's  one  thing." 

**Yes?"  asked  Margaret. 

**You  know,  it  won't  do  for  you  to  be  seen  with  me," 
he  said  gently.     *  *  It  won 't  do  at  all. ' ' 

Margaret  laughed.  ''I  think  I  can  bear  up  against 
103 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

the  ill-report  of  the  neighborhood/'  she  said.  **My 
kingdom  is  not  of  this  particular  world.  We  won't 
bother  about  that,  please." 

The  Kafir  shook  his  head.  ''There  's  no  help  for  it/' 
he  answered.  *'I  must  bother  about  it.  It  bothers  me 
so  much  that  unless  you  will  let  me  know  best  in  this 
(for  I  really  do  know)  I  11  never  come  this  way  again. 
Do  you  think  I  could  bear  it,  if  people  talked  about 
you  for  suffering  the  company  of  a  nigger  ?  You  don 't 
know  this  country.  It  's  a  dangerous  place  for  people 
who  go  against  its  prejudices.  So  if  I  am  to  see  you, 
for  God's  sake  be  careful.  I  '11  look  forward  to  it  like 
— like  a  sick  man  looking  forward  to  health;  but  not  if 
you  are  to  pay  for  it.    Not  at  that  price." 

*'0h,  well!"  Margaret  found  the  topic  unpleasant. 
**I  don't  see  any  risk.  But  you  're  rather  putting  me 
into  the  position  of  the  bandmaster  on  the  ship,  aren't 
you?  I  'm  to  have  the  sovereign;  that  is,  I  'm  to  hear 
what  I  want  to  hear;  but  only  when  nobody  's  looking. 
However,  it  shall  be  as  you  say." 

''Thank  you."  He  managed  to  sound  genuinely 
grateful.  "You  're  awfully  kind  to  me.  You  shall 
hear  everything  you  want  to  hear.  Paul  can  always  lay 
hands  on  me  for  you. ' ' 

Margaret  rose  to  her  feet.  The  evening  struck  chill 
upon  her  and  she  coughed.  In  the  growing  dark,  the 
Kafir  knit  his  brows  at  the  sound  of  it. 

**I  must  be  going  now,"  she  said.  "Paul  didn't  in- 
troduce me  after  all,  did  he?  But  I  don't  think  it  's 
necessary. ' ' 

She  stood  a  little  above  him  on  the  slope  of  the  wall, 
a  tall,  slight  figure  seen  against  its  dark  bulk. 

"I  know  your  name,"  he  answered. 
104 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

*'And  I  know  yours,"  she  put  in  quickly.  **Tell  me 
if  I  'm  not  right.  You  're  Kamis.  I  Ve  heard  about 
you  this  afternoon.'' 

He  stared  at  her  for  a  space  of  seconds.  **Yes,"  he 
said  slowly.     *  *  I  'm  Kamis.     But — who  told  you  ? ' ' 

She  laughed  quietly.  *^You  see,"  she  said,  ''I  've 
got  something  to  tell,  too.  Oh,  I  know  lots  about  you; 
you  '11  have  to  come  and  hear  that,  at  any  rate. ' ' 

She  put  out  her  hand  to  him. 

* '  Good  night,  Mr.  Kamis, ' '  she  said. 

The  Kafir  bared  his  head  before  he  took  her  hand. 
He  seemed  to  have  some  difficulty  in  speaking. 

**Good  night,"  he  said.  ''Good  night!  I  '11  never 
forget  your  goodness." 

He  let  her  go  and  she  turned  back  to  the  path  that 
should  take  her  past  the  farmhouse  and  the  kraals  to 
the  Sanatorium  and  dinner.  At  the  turn  of  the  wall, 
its  lights  met  her  with  their  dazed,  unwinking  stare, 
shining  from  the  dining-room  which  had  no  part  in  the 
spacious  night  of  the  Karoo  and  those  whose  place  is  in 
the  darkness.  She  had  gone  a  hundred  yards  before  she 
looked  back. 

Behind  her  the  western  sky  treasured  still  the  last 
luminous  dregs  of  day,  that  leaked  from  it  like  water 
one  holds  in  cupped  hands.  In  the  middle  of  it,  high 
upon  the  dam  wall,  a  single  human  figure,  swart  and 
motionless,  stood  to  watch  her  out  of  sight. 


105 


CHAPTER  VII 

LOOKS  pooty  bad  for  the  huntinV'  remarked  Mr. 
Samson  suddenly,  glancing  up  from  the  crinkly 
sheets  of  the  letter  he  was  reading.  *'Here  's  a  feller 
writin'  to  me  that  the  ground  's  like  iron  already.  You 
hunt,  Miss  Harding?" 

**0h,  dear,  yes,''  replied  Margaret  cheerfully. 
**  Lions  and  elephants  and — er — eagles.  Such  sport, 
you  know!'* 

**Hah!"  Mr.  Samson  shook  his  head  at  her  indul- 
gently. **Your  grandmother  wouldn't  have  said  that, 
young  lady.  But  you  youngsters,  you  don't  know 
what  's  good  for  you — by  gad!     Eagles,  eh?" 

Once  in  a  week,  breakfast  at  the  Sanatorium  gained! 
a  vivid  and  even  a  breathless  quality  from  the  fact  that 
one  found  the  weekly  letters  piled  between  one's  knife 
and  fork,  as  though  Mrs.  Jakes  knew — no  doubt  she 
did — ^that  her  guests  would  make  the  chief  part  of  their 
meal  on  the  contents  of  the  envelopes.  The  Kafir  run- 
ner who  brought  them  from  the  station  arrived  in  the 
early  dawn  and  nobody  saw  him  but  Mrs.  Jakes;  she 
was  the  human  link  between  the  abstractions  of  the  post- 
office  and  those  who  had  the  right  to  open  the  letters 
and  be  changed  for  the  day  by  their  contents.  It  was 
not  invariably  that  the  mail  included  letters  for  her, 
and  these  too  would  be  put  in  order  on  the  breakfast 
table,  under  the  tap  of  the  urn,  and  not  opened  tiU 
the  others  were  down.    Then  Mrs.  Jakes  also,  like  a 

106 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

well-connected  Jack  Horner,  could  pull  from  the  elo- 
quence of  her  correspondents  an  occasional  plum  of  in- 
formation to  pass  round  the  table. 

*'Only  think!''  she  would  offer.  **The  Duchess  of 
York  has  got  another  baby.  Let  me  see  now!  How 
many  does  that  make  ? ' ' 

It  was  always  Mr.  Samson  who  was  down  first  on 
mail-mornings,  and  his  was  always  the  largest  budget. 
His  seat  was  at  the  end  of  the  table  nearest  the  window, 
and  he  would  read  sitting  a  little  sideways  in  his  chair, 
with  the  letter  held  well  up  to  the  light  and  his  right 
eyebrow  clenched  on  a  monocle.  Fat  letters  of  many 
sheets,  long  letters  on  thin  foreign  paper,  newspapers, 
circulars — they  made  up  enough  to  keep  him  reading  the 
whole  morning,  and  thoughtful  most  of  the  afternoon. 
From  this  feast  he  would  scatter  crumbs  of  fashionable 
or  sporting  intelligence,  and  always  he  would  have  some- 
thing to  say  about  the  state  of  the  weather  in  England 
when  the  post  left,  three  weeks  before. 

**Just  think!"  he  continued.  *' Frost  already — and 
fogs!  Frost,  Miss  Harding;  instead  of  this  sultry  old 
dust-heap.    How  does  that  strike  you?     Eh?" 

**It  leaves  me  cold,"  returned  Margaret  agreeably. 

''Cold!"  he  retorted,  snorting.  ''Well,  I'd  give 
something  to  shiver  again,  something  handsome. 
What 's  that  you  're  saying.  Ford?" 

Ford  had  passed  a  post-card  to  Mrs.  Jakes  to  read 
and  now  received  it  back  from  her. 

"It  's  Van  Zyl,"  he  replied.  "He  writes  that  he  '11 
be  coming  past  this  afternoon,  about  tea  time,  and  he  '11 
look  in.    I  was  telling  Mrs.  Jakes," 

"Good!"  said  Mr.  Samson. 

"It 's  a  man  I  know,"  Ford  explained  to  Margaret. 
107 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

*'He  looks  me  up  occasionally.  He  's  in  the  Cape 
Mounted  Police  and  a  Dutchman.  You  '11  be  in  for 
tea?" 

''When  somebody  's  coming?  Of  course  I  will,"  said 
Margaret.     * '  A  policeman,  is  he  ? " 

*'Yes,"  answered  Ford.  *'He  's  a  sub-inspector,  an 
officer ;  but  he  was  a  trooper  three  years  ago,  and  he  's 
quite  a  chap  to  know.    You  see  what  you  think  of  him." 

**I  'II  look  at  him  carefully,"  said  Margaret.  **But 
tell  me  some  more,  please!  Is  he  a  mute,  inglorious 
Sherlock  Holmes,  or  what?" 

Ford  laughed.  **No,"  he  said.  **No,  it  's  not  that 
sort  of  thing,  at  all.  It  's  just  that  he  's  a  noticeable 
person,  don 't  you  know  ?  He  's  the  kind  of  chap  who  'a 
simply  born  to  put  into  a  uniform  and  astride  of  a  horse ; 
you  '11  see  what  I  mean  when  he  comes." 

Mrs.  Jakes  leaned  to  the  right  to  catch  Margaret's 
eye  round  the  urn. 

'*My  dear,"  she  said  seriously.  ''Mr.  Van  Zyl  is  the 
image  of  a  perfect  gentleman." 

"All  right!"  said  Margaret.  "Between  you,  you  've 
filled  me  with  the  darkest  forebodings.  But  so  long  as 
it 's  a  biped,  and  without  feathers,  I  '11  do  my  best." 

Her  own  letters  were  three  in  number.  One  was  from 
an  uncle  who  was  also  her  solicitor  and  trustee,  the 
source  of  checks  and  worldly  counsel.  His  letter 
opened  playfully;  the  legal  uncle,  writing  in  the  inner 
chamber  of  his  offices  in  Lincoln's  Inn  Fields,  hoped 
that  she  did  not  find  the  local  fashions  in  dress  irk- 
some, and  made  reference  to  three  mosquitos  and  a 
smile.  The  break  of  a  paragraph  brought  him  to 
business  matters  and  the  epistle  concluded  with  an  al- 
lusion to  the  effect  of  a  Liberal  Government  on  markets. 

108 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

It  was,  thought  Margaret,  a  compact  revelation  of  the 
whole  mind  of  the  legal  uncle,  and  wondered  why  she 
should  get  vaguely  impatient  with  his  implied  sugges- 
tion that  she  was  in  an  uncivilized  country.  The  next 
was  from  the  strong-minded  aunt  who  had  imposed  aus- 
terity upon  her  choice  of  clothes  for  her  travels — a  Chi- 
nese cracker  of  a  letter,  detonating  along  three  sheets  in 
crisp  misstatements  that  had  the  outward  form  of  epi- 
grams. The  aunt  related,  tersely,  her  endeavor  to  cul- 
tivate a  physique  with  Indian  clubs  and  the  consequent 
accident  to  her  maid.  **But  arms  like  pipe-stems  can 
be  trusted  to  break  like  pipe-stems,"  she  concluded 
hardily.  **I  Ve  given  her  cash  and  a  character,  and 
the  new  one  is  fat.  No  pipe-stems  about  her,  though 
she  bruises  with  the  least  touch!'' 

These  two  she  read  at  the  breakfast  table,  drinking 
from  her  coffee-cup  between  the  bottom  of  one  sheet 
and  the  top  of  the  next,  savoring  them  for  a  vintage 
gone  flat  and  perished.  It  came  to  her  that  their  writers 
lived  as  in  dim  glass  cases,  seeing  the  world  beyond 
their  own  small  scope  as  a  distance  of  shadows,  inde- 
terminate and  void,  while  trivialities  and  toys  that  were 
close  to  them  bulked  like  impending  doom.  She  laid 
down  the  legal  uncle  in  the  middle  of  a  sentence  to 
hear  of  Van  Zyl  and  did  not  look  back  to  pick  up  the 
context  when  she  resumed  her  reading.  The  le^dl 
uncle,  in  her  theory,  had  no  context;  he  ranked  as  a 
printer's  error.  It  was  the  third  letter  which  she  car- 
ried forth  when  she  left  the  table,  to  read  again  on  the 
stoep. 

The  jargon  of  the  art  schools  saves  its  practitioners 
much  trouble  in  accounting  for  those  matters  and  things 
which  come  under  their  observation,  since  a  phrase  is 

109 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

frequently  indistinguishable  from  a  fact  and  very  filling 
at  the  price.  But  Margaret  was  not  ready  with  a  name 
for  that  quality  in  the  third  letter  which  caused  her 
to  read  it  through  again  and  linger  out  its  substance. 
It  was  from  a  girl  who  had  been  her  school-fellow  and 
later  her  friend,  and  later  still  a  gracious  and  rarely- 
seen  acquaintance,  smiling  a  welcome  at  chance  meet- 
ings and  ever  remoter  and  more  abstracted  from  those 
affairs  which  occupied  Margaret's  days.  The  name  of 
a  Kensington  square  stood  at  the  head  of  her  letter 
as  her  address;  Margaret  knew  it  familiarly,  from  the 
grime  on  the  iron  railings  which  held  its  melancholy 
garden  a  prisoner,  to  the  deep  areas  of  its  houses  that 
gave  one  in  passing  glimpses  of  spacious  kitchens  under 
the  roots  of  the  dwellings.  Three  floors  up  from  the 
pavement.  Amy  Hollyer,  in  her  brown-papered  room, 
with  the  Eossetti  prints  on  the  wall  and  the  Helen 
etching  above  the  mantel,  had  set  her  mild  and  earnest 
miad  on  paper  for  Margaret's  reading,  news,  comment, 
small  jest  and  smaller  dogma,  a  gentle  trickle  of  gossip 
about  things  and  people  who  were  already  vague  in  the 
past.  It  was  little,  it  was  trivial,  but  through  it  there 
ran,  like  the  red  thread  in  a  ripping-cord,  a  vein  of 
zest,  of  sheer  gusto  in  the  movement  and  thrill  of 
things.  It  suggested  an  ant  lost  in  a  two-inch  high 
forest  of  lawn-grass,  but  it  rendered,  too,  some  of  the 
ant's  passionate  sense  of  adventure. 

**She  's  alive,''  thought  Margaret,  laying  the  letter 
at  last  in  her  lap.  **Dear  old  Amy,  what  a  wonderful 
world  she  lives  in!  But  then,  she  'd  furnish  any  world 
with  complications." 

Twenty  feet  way,  Ford  had  his  little  easel  between 
his  outstretched  legs  and  was  frowning  absorbedly  from 

110 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

it  to  the  Karoo  and  back  again.  Twenty  feet  away  on 
her  other  side,  Mr.  Samson  was  crackling  a  three-weeks- 
old  copy  of  The  Morning  Post  into  readable  dimen- 
sions. Before  her,  across  the  railing  of  the  stoep,  the 
Karoo  lifted  its  blind  face  to  the  gathering  might  of 
the  sun. 

**Even  this,"  continued  Margaret.  **She  'd  find  this 
inexhaustible.  She  was  bom  with  an  appetite  for  life. 
I  seem  to  have  lost  mine.'' 

From  the  great  front  door  emerged  to  the  daylight 
the  solid  rotundity  of  Fat  Mary,  billowing  forth  on 
flat  bare  feet  and  carrying  in  her  hand  a  bunch  of  the 
long  crimson  plumes  of  the  aloe,  that  spiky  free-lance  of 
the  veld  which  flaunts  its  red  cockade  above  the  abomi- 
nation of  desolation.  Fat  Mary  spied  Margaret  and 
came  padding  towards  her,  her  smile  lighting  up  her 
vast  black  face  with  the  effect  of  *'some  great  illumina- 
tion surprising  a  festal  night. ' ' 

''For  Missis,''  she  remarked,  offering  the  crimson 
bunch. 

Margaret  sat  up  in  her  chair  with  an  exclamation. 
''Flowers!"  she  said.  *'Are  they  flowers?  They're 
more  like  great  thick  feathers.  Where  did  you  get  them, 
Mary?" 

Fat  Mary  giggled  awkwardly.  **A  Kafir  bring 
'um,"  she  explained.  *'He  say — for  Missis  Hardin  <5, 
an'  give  me  a  ticky  (a  threepenny  piece).  Fool — that 
Kafir!" 

Margaret  stared,  holding  the  fat,  fleshy  crimson 
things  in  her  hands. 

"Oh!"  she  said,  understanding.  **  Where  is  he, 
Mary?     The  Kafir,  I  mean?" 

JFat  Mary  shook  her  head  placidly.    **Gone,"  she 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

said;  and  waved  a  great  hand  to  the  ntter  distance  of 
the  heat  haze.  **That  Kafir  gone,  Missis.  He  come 
before  breakfus';  Missis  in  bed.  Say  for  Missis 
Harding  an'  give  me  ticky.  Fool!  Talk  English — 
an'  boots!" 

She  shrugged  mightily  to  express  the  distrust  and 
contempt  she  could  not  put  into  words. 

*' Boots!"  she  repeated  darkly. 

'*Well,"  said  Margaret,  ''they  're  very  pretty,  any- 
how." 

Fat  Mary  wrinkled  her  nose.  *  *  Stink, ' '  she  observed. 
*' Missis  smell  'em.  Stink  like  a  hell!  Missis  throw 
'um  away." 

Margaret  looked  at  the  stout  woman  and  smiled. 
Fat  Mary's  hostility  to  the  Kafir  and  the  aloe  plumes 
and  the  ticky  was  plainly  the  fruit  of  jealousy. 

**I  won't  throw  them  away  yet,"  she  said.  *'I  want 
to  look  at  them  first.  But  did  you  know  the  Kafir, 
Mary?" 

''Me!"  Fat  Mary  drew  herself  up.  **No,  Missis 
— not  know  that  skellum.  Never  see  him  before. 
What  for  that  Kafir  come  here,  an'  bring  stink-flowers 
to  my  Missis?     An'  boots?     Fool,  that  Kafir!    Fool!'' 

"All  right,  Mary,"  said  Margaret,  concilia tingly. 
"Very  likely  he  won't  come  again.  So  never  mind  this 
time." 

Fat  Mary  smiled  ruefully.  Most  of  her  emotions 
found  expressions  in  smiles. 

"That  Kafir  come  again,"  she  said  thoughtfully, 
"I  punch  'im!" 

And  comforted  by  this  resolve,  she  retired  along 
the  stone  stoep  and  betook  herself  once  more  to  her 
functions  indoors. 

112 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

At  his  post  further  along  the  stoep,  Ford  was  look- 
ing up  with  a  smile,  for  the  sounds  of  Fat  Mary's 
grievance  had  reached  him.  Margaret  did  not  notice 
his  attention;  she  was  turning  over  the  great  bouquet 
of  cold  flaunting  flowers  which  had  come  to  her  out  of 
the  wilderness,  as  though  to  remind  her  that  at  the 
heart  of  it  there  was  a  voice  crying. 

Ford's  friend  was  punctual  to  his  promise  to  arrive 
for  tea.  Upon  the  stroke  of  half-past  four  he  reined 
in  his  big  horse  at  the  foot  of  the  steps  and  swung 
stiffly  *  from  the  saddle.  He  came,  indeed,  with  cir- 
cumstances of  pomp,  armed  men  riding  before  him  and 
captives  padding  in  the  dust  between  them.  Old  Mr. 
Samson  sighted  him  while  he  was  yet  afar  off  and 
cried  the  news  and  the  others  came  to  look. 

*'Who  's  he  got  with  him?"  demanded  Mr.  Samson, 
fumbling  his  papers  into  the  pockets  of  his  writing 
case.  **  Looks  like  a  bally  army.  Can  you  see  what 
it  is.  Ford?" 

Ford  was  staring  with  narrowed  eyes  through  the 
sunshine. 

**Yes,"  he  said  slowly.  ''He  's  got  prisoners.  But 
what  's  he  bringing  them  here  for?" 

''Prisoners?     Oh,  do  let  me  look!" 

Margaret  came  to  his  side  and  followed  his  pointing 
finger  with  her  eyes.  A  blot  of  haze  was  moving  very 
slowly  towards  them  over  the  surface  of  the  ground, 
and  through  it  as  she  watched  there  broke  here  and 
there  the  shapes  of  men  and  horses  traveling  in  that 
cloud  of  dust. 

"Why,  they  're  miles  away,"  she  exclaimed. 
"They '11  be  hours  yet." 

"Say  half-an-hour,"  suggested  Ford,  iiis  face  still 
«  113 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

puckered  with  the  effort  to  see.  *'They  're  moving 
briskly,  you  know.     He  's  shoving  them  along. ' ' 

**But  why  prisoners?"  enquired  Margaret.  *'What 
prisoners  could  he  get  on  the  Karoo?  There  's  nobody 
to  arrest.'' 

**Van  Zyl  seems  to  have  found  somebody,  anyhow," 
answered  Ford.  ^*I  had  a  glimpse  of  people  on  foot. 
But  I  can't  imagine  why  he  brings  'em  here." 

**Ask  him,"  suggested  Mr.  Samson.  *'What  's  your 
hurry?    "Wait  till  he  comes  and  then  ask  him." 

First  Mrs.  Jakes  and  then  the  doctor  joined  the 
spectators  on  the  stoep  as  the  party  drew  out  of  the 
distance  and  defined  itself  as  a  string  of  Kafirs  on 
foot,  herded  upon  their  way  by  five  Cape  Mounted  Police 
with  a  tall  young  officer  riding  in  the  rear.  It  was 
a  monstrous  phenomenon  to  emerge  thus  from  the 
vagueness  and  mystery  of  the  haze,  and  Margaret 
uttered  a  sharp  exclamation  of  distress  as  it  came 
close  and  showed  itself  in  all  its  miserable  detail. 
There  were  perhaps  twenty  Kafirs,  men  and  women 
both,  dusty,  lean  creatures  with  the  eyes,  at  once  timor- 
ous and  untameable,  of  wild  animals.  They  shuffled 
along  dejectedly,  their  feet  lifting  the  dust  in  spurts 
and  wreaths,  their  backs  bent  to  the  labor  of  the 
journey.  Three  or  four  of  the  men  were  handcuffed 
together,  and  these  made  the  van  of  the  unhappy  body, 
but  save  for  these  fetters,  there  was  nothing  to  distin- 
guish one  from  another.  Their  separate  individuali- 
ties seemed  merged  in  a  single  slavishness,  and  as  they 
turned  their  heads  to  look  at  the  white  people  ele- 
vated on  the  stoep,  they  showed  only  a  row  of  white 
hopeless  eyes.  Beside  them  as  they  plodded,  the  tall 
Ibeautiful  horses  had  a  look  of  nonchalance  and  superior- 

114 


FLOWER  0^  THE  PEACH 

ity,  and  the  mounted  men,  bored  and  thirsty,  looked 
over  their  heads  as  perfunctorily  as  drovers  keeping 
watch  on  docile  cattle. 

**How  horrible!"  said  Margaret,  in  a  low  voice,  for 
the  officer,  followed  by  an  orderly,  was  at  the  foot  of 
the  steps. 

The  prisoners  and  their  guards  did  not  halt;  they 
continued  their  way  past  the  house  and  on  towards  the 
opposite  horizon.  Their  backSj  as  they  departed, 
showed  gray  with  clinging  dust. 

Sub-Inspector  Van  Zyl,  booted  and  spurred,  trim  in 
his  dust-smirched  blue  uniform,  with  his  holster  at 
his  hip  and  the  sling  across  his  tight  chest,  lifted  his 
hand  in  the  abrupt  motions  of  a  salute  as  he  received 
Mrs.  Jakes'  greeting. 

'*Kind  of  you,''  he  said,  with  a  sort  of  curt  cordiality 
and  the  least  touch  in  life  of  the  thick  Dutch  accent. 
''Most  kind!  Tea  's  the  very  thing  I  'd  like.  Thank 
you." 

At  sight  of  Margaret,  grave  and  young,  as  different 
from  Mrs.  Jakes  as  if  she  had  been  of  another  sex, 
a  slight  spark  lit  in  his  eye  for  a  moment  and  there  was 
an  even  stronger  abruptness  of  formality  in  his  salute. 
His  curiously  direct  gaze  rested  upon  her  several  times 
during  the  administration  of  tea  in  the  drawing-room, 
where  he  sat  upright  in  his  chair,  with  knees  apart, 
as  though  he  were  still  astride  of  a  horse.  He  was  a 
man  made  as  by  design  for  the  wearing  of  official 
cloth.  His  blunt,  neatly-modeled  Dutch  face,  blond  as 
straw  where  it  was  not  tanned  to  the  hue  of  the  earth 
of  the  Karoo,  had  the  stolid,  responsible  cast  that  is  the 
ensign  of  military  authority.  His  uniform  stood  on 
him  like  a  skin;  and  his  mere  unconsciousness  of  the 

115 


FLOWER  0*  THE  PEACH 

spurs  on  his  boots  and  the  revolver  on  his  hip 
strengthened  his  effect  of  a  man  habituated  to  the  pano- 
ply and  accoutrement  of  war.  Even  his  manners,  pre- 
cise and  ordered  like  a  military  exercise,  never  slack- 
ened into  humanity;  the  Dutch  Sub-Inspector  of  Cape 
Mounted  Police  might  have  been  a  Prussian  Lieutenant 
with  the  eyes  of  the  world  on  him. 

** Timed  myself  to  get  here  for  tea,''  he  explained  to 
Ford.  **Just  managed  it,  though.  Hot  work  trav- 
eling, to-day." 

Hotter,  thought  Margaret,  for  those  of  his  travel- 
ing companions  who  had  no  horses  under  them,  and  who 
would  not  arrive  anywhere  in  time  for  tea. 

*'You  seem  to  have  made  a  bag,"  replied  Ford. 
''What  's  been  the  trouble?" 

*' Fighting  and  looting,"  answered  Sub-Inspector 
iVan  Zyl  carelessly.  **A  row  between  two  kraals,  you 
know,  and  a  man  killed." 

**Any  resistance?"  enquired  Ford. 

"A  bit,"  said  Van  Zyl.  ''My  sergeant  got  his  head 
split  open  with  an  axe.  Those  niggers  in  the  south 
are  an  ugly  lot  and  they  '11  always  fight.  You  see,  it 's 
only  about  twenty  years  ago  they  were  at  war  with  us ; 
it  '11  need  another  twenty  to  knock  the  fighting  tradi- 
tion out  of  'em." 

"They  looked  meek  enough  as  they  passed,"  re- 
marked Ford.  "There  didn't  seem  to  be  a  kick  left 
among  them." 

Van  Zyl  nodded  over  the  brim  of  his  tea-cup. 
"There  isn't,"  he  said  shortly.  "They've  had  the 
kick  taken  out  of  'em." 

He  drank  imperturbably,  and  Margaret  had  a  mo- 
mentary blurred  vision  of  defeated,  captured  Kafirs  in 

116 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

the  process  of  having  the  kick  extracted  from  them  and 
the  serene,  fair-haired  sub-inspector  superintending  its 
removal  with  unruffled,  professional  calm. 

**Been  here  long,  Miss  Harding?" 

Van  Zyl  addressed  her  suddenly  across  the  room. 

**Not  quite  long  enough  to  understand,"  she  re- 
plied. *'Did  you  say  those  poor  creatures  were  fighting 
— among  themselves?" 

''Yes." 

''But  why?"  she  persisted.  "What  did  they  fight 
for?" 

He  shrugged  his  neat  shoulders.  "Why  does  a 
Kafir  do  anything?"  he  enquired.  "They  told  a  cock- 
and-bull  story  that  seems  to  be  getting  fashionable 
among  them  of  late,  about  a  son  of  one  of  their  old 
chiefs  appearing  among  them  dressed  like  a  white  man. 
He  went  from  kraal  to  kraal,  talking  English  and 
giving  money,  and  at  one  kraal  the  headman,  an  old 
chap  who  used  to  be  a  native  constable  of  ours,  actu- 
ally seems  to  have  laid  his  stick  across  some  wandering 
nigger  who  couldn't  explain  what  he  wanted.  The 
next  kraal  heard  of  this,  and  decided  at  once  that  a 
chief  had  been  insulted,  and  the  next  thing  was  a  fight 
and  the  old  headman  with  an  assegai  through  him. 
But  if  you  want  my  opinion.  Miss  Harding — it  does  n  't 
make  such  a  good  story,  but  I  Ve  had  to  do  with  niggers 
all  my  life — " 

"  Yes  ?  "  said  Margaret.     ' '  Tell  me. ' ' 

"Well,"  said  Van  Zyl,  "my  opinion  is  that  if  the  old 
headman  had  n  't  been  the  owner  of  twelve  head  of  cattle, 
all  ready  to  be  stolen,  he  might  have  gone  on  whacking 
stray  Kafirs  all  his  life  without  hurting  anybody's 
feelings." 

117 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

"Except  theirs/'  suggested  Mr.  Samson.  ^'Hah, 
ha!    Except  the  chaps  that  he  whacked — ^what?'* 

*' Quite  so!''  Sub-Inspector  Van  Zyl  smiled  politely. 
**He  was  a  vigorous  old  gentleman,  and  rather  given 
to  laying  about  him  with  anything  that  came  handy. 
Probably  picked  up  the  habit  in  the  police;  the  Kafir 
constables  are  always  pretty  rough  with  people  of  their 
own  color.  Anyhow,  he  's  done  for;  they  drove  a  stab- 
bing assegai  clean  through  him  and  pinned  him  to  a 
post  of  his  own  hut.  I  think  I  've  got  the  nigger  that 
did  it." 

Mrs.  Jakes  at  the  tea-table  shook  her  skirts  ap- 
plaudingly. At  any  rate,  the  rustle  of  them  as  she 
shook  came  in  like  applause  at  the  tail  of  the  sub- 
inspector's  narrative. 

'*He  ought  to  be  hanged,"  she  said. 

**He  will  be,"  said  the  sub-inspector.  ''But  we  're 
not  at  the  bottom  of  it  yet.  There  is  a  fellow,  so  far 
as  I  can  find  out,  coming  and  going  on  the  Karoo, 
dressed  in  clothes  and  talking  a  sort  of  English.  He  's 
the  man  I  want." 

**What  for?"  demanded  Margaret,  and  knew  that 
she  had  spoken  too  sharply.  Van  Zyl  seemed  to  remark 
it,  too,  for  his  eye  dwelt  on  her  inquiringly  for  a  couple 
of  seconds  before  he  replied. 

''It'll  probably  be  sedition,"  he  replied.  "The 
whole  lot  of  'em  are  uneasy  down  in  the  south  there 
and  we  're  strengthening  our  posts.  No ! "  he  said,  to 
Mrs.  Jakes'  exclamation;  "there's  no  danger.  Not 
the  slightest  danger.  But  if  we  could  just  lay  hands 
on  that  wandering  nigger  who  talks  English — " 

He  left  the  sentence  unfinished,  and  his  nod  signi- 
fied that  dire  experiences  awaited  the   elusive  Kafir 

118 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

when  he  should  come  into  the  strong  hands  of  author- 
ity. The  Cape  Mounted  Police,  he  replied,  would  cure 
him  of  his  eccentricities. 

He  passed  on  to  talk  with  Ford  and  Mrs.  Jakes  about 
common  acquaintances,  officers  in  the  police  and  the 
Rifles  and  people  who  lived  in  Dopfontein,  sixty  miles 
away,  and  belonged  to  a  tennis  club.  Then  the  sound 
of  the  softly-closing  door  advertised  them  of  the  tiptoe 
departure  of  Dr.  Jakes,  and  soon  afterwards  Van  Zyl 
rose  and  announced  that  he  must  leave  to  overtake 
his  party. 

**If  you  can  come  to  Dopfontein,  Miss  Harding," 
he  said,  as  he  took  his  leave,  **hope  you  11  let  me 
know.     Decent  little  place;  we  '11  try  to  amuse  you.'' 

The  orderly,  refreshed  but  dusty  still,  came  quickly 
to  attention  as  the  sub-inspector  appeared  in  the  door- 
way, and  his  pert  cockney  face  took  on  the  blankness 
proper  to  discipline.  At  a  window  above,  Fat  Mary 
shed  admiring  glances  upon  him,  and  a  certain  rigor 
of  demeanor  might  have  been  taken  to  indicate  that 
the  warrior  was  not  unconscious  of  them.  He  looked 
back  over  his  shoulder  as  he  cantered  off  in  the  wake 
of  the  sub-inspector. 

**What  's  the  trouble?"  asked  Ford,  discreetly,  as 
the  sun-warmed  dust  fluffed  up  and  enveloped  the 
riders  in  a  soft  cloud  of  bronze. 

Margaret  turned  impatiently  from  looking  after 
them. 

**I  hate  cruelty,"  she  said,  irritably. 

Ford  looked  at  her  shrewdly.  *'0f  course  you  do," 
he  said.  **But  Van  Zyl 's  not  cruel.  What  he  said 
is  true ;  he  's  been  among  Kafirs  all  his  life. ' ' 

**And  learned  nothing,"  retorted  Margaret.  **It  's 
119 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

beastly;  it 's  just  beastly.  He  can't  even  think  they 
ever  mean  well;  they  only  fight  to  steal,  according  to 
him.  And  then  he  *  takes  the  kick  out  of  them!' 
Some  day  he  '11  work  himself  up  to  crucify  one  of 
them." 

''Hold  on,"  said  Ford.  **You  mustn't  get  ex- 
cited; you  know,  Jakes  doesn't  allow  it.  And  you  're 
really  not  quite  just  to  Van  Zyl. " 

**Isn't  he  proud  of  it?"  asked  Margaret  scornfully. 

*'I  wonder,"  said  Ford.  **But  it  's  just  as  likely 
he  's  proud  of  policing  a  smallpox  district  single- 
handed  and  playing  priest  and  nurse  when  he  was 
only  paid  to  be  jailer  and  executioner.  He  got  his  pro- 
motion for  that." 

''Mr.  Van  Zyl  did  that?"  asked  Margaret  incredu- 
lously. "Did  he  arrange  to  have  the  deaths  over  in 
time  for  tea?" 

Ford  laughed  shortly.  "You  must  ask  him,"  he 
replied.  "He  '11  probably  say  he  did.  He  's  very 
fond  of  tea.  But  at  any  rate,  he  sees  as  much  down- 
right hard  fighting  in  a  year  as  a  man  in  the  army 
might  see  in  a  lifetime  and — "  he  looked  at  Margaret 
out  of  the  corners  of  his  eyes — "the  Kafirs  swear  by 
him." 

"The  Kafirs  do?"  asked  Margaret  incredulously. 

"They  swear  by  him,"  Ford  assured  her.  "You  try 
Fat  Mary  some  time ;  she  '11  tell  you. ' ' 

"Oh,  well,"  said  Margaret;  "I  don't  know.  Things 
are  beastly,  anyhow,  and  I  don't  know  which  is 
worse — cruelty  to  Kafirs  or  the  Kafirs'  apparent  enjoy- 
ment of  it.     That  man  has  made  me  miserable." 

Ford  frowned.  "Don't  be  miserable,"  he  said, 
awkwardly.    "I  hate  to  think  you  're  unhappy.    You 

120 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

know,"  he  went  on,  more  fluently  as  an  argument 
opened  out  ahead  of  him,  ^'you  Ve  no  business  really 
to  concern  yourself  with  such  things.  You  don't  be- 
long among  them.  You  're  a  bird  of  passage,  just  perch- 
ing for  a  moment  on  your  way  through,  and  you 
mustn't  eat  the  local  worms.    It 's  poaching. '* 

** There  's  nothing  else  to  eat,"  replied  Margaret 
lugubriously. 

**You  should  have  brought  your  knitting,"  said 
Ford.  *'You  really  should!  Capital  thing  for  stay- 
ing the  pangs  of  hunger,  knitting!" 

*' Thank  you,"  said  Margaret.  *'You  're  very  good. 
But  I  prefer  worms.    Not  so  cloying,  you  know ! " 

She  did  not,  however,  act  upon  Ford's  suggestion  to 
ask  Fat  Mary  about  the  sub-inspector.  Even  as  rats 
are  said  to  afford  the  means  of  travel  to  the  bacillus 
of  bubonic  plague,  it  is  probable  that  the  worms  of  a 
country  furnish  vehicles  for  native  prejudices  and 
habits  of  mind.  At  any  rate,  when  Margaret  sur- 
veyed Fat  Mary,  ballooning  about  the  room  and  creased 
with  gaiety,  there  came  to  her  that  sense  of  the  impro- 
priety of  discussing  a  white  man  with  her  handmaid 
which  is  at  the  root  of  South  African  etiquette. 

**Them  flowers  gone,"  announced  Fat  Mary  tran- 
quilly, when  Margaret  was  in  bed  and  she  was  pre- 
paring to  depart. 

**Gone!  .Where?"  asked  Margaret. 

**I  throw  'um  away,"  was  the  contented  answer. 
** Stink — ^pah!    So  I  throw 'um.    Goo' night,  missis." 


121 


CHAPTER  VIII 

DON'T  you  some  times  feel/'  asked  Margaret, 
**as  though  dullness  had  gone  as  far  as  it  pos- 
sibly can  go,  and  something  surprising  simply  must 
happen  soon?" 

Ford  glanced  cautiously  about  him  before  he  an- 
swered. 

**Lots  of  things  might  happen  any  minute  to  some 
of  us,"  he  said.  **You  haven't  been  ill  enough  to 
know,  but  we  aren't  all  keen  for  surprises." 

It  was  evening,  and  the  big  lamp  that  hung  from 
the  ceiling  in  the  middle  of  the  drawing-room  breathed 
a  faint  fragrance  of  paraffin  upon  the  inhabitants  of 
the  Sanatorium  assembled  beneath  it.  From  the  piano 
which  stood  against  the  wall,  Mrs.  Jakes  had  removed 
its  usual  load  of  photographs  and  ornamental  pottery, 
and  now,  with  her  back  to  her  fellow  creatures,  was 
playing  the  intermezzo  from  *'Cavalleria  Rusticana." 
Her  small  hands  moving  upon  the  keys  showed  the  red 
knuckles  and  uneven  nails  which  had  come  to  her  since 
first  she  learned  that  composition  within  earshot  of 
the  diapason  of  trains  passing  by  Clapham  Junction, 
mightily  challenging  her  laborious  tinkle-tinkle,  and 
with  as  little  avail  as  now  the  night  of  the  Karoo 
challenged  it.  Like  her  gloves  and  her  company  man- 
ners, it  stood  between  her  shrinking  spirit  and  those 
poignant  realities  which  might  otherwise  have  over- 
thrown her.     So  when  she  came  to  the  end  of  it  she 

122 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

turned  back  the  pages  of  the  score  which  was  propped 
before  her,  and  without  glancing  at  the  notes,  played 
it  through  again. 

**For  instance,''  whispered  Ford,  under  cover  of  the 
music;  **look  at  Jakes.  He  carries  a  catastrophe  about 
with  him,  don't  you  think?" 

The  doctor  was  ranging  uneasily  to  and  fro  on  the 
hearth-rug,  where  the  years  of  his  exile  were  recorded 
in  patches  worn  bare  by  his  feet.  There  was  already 
a  change  to  be  remarked  in  him  since  Margaret  had  first 
made  his  acquaintance ;  some  of  his  softness  and  appeal- 
ing guiltiness  was  gone  and  he  was  a  little  more  desper- 
ate and  unresponsive.  She  had  mentioned  this  once  to 
Ford,  who  had  frowned  and  replied,  ^*Yes,  he  's  show- 
ing the  strain."  She  looked  at  him  now  covertly.  He 
was  walking  to  and  fro  before  the  empty  fireplace  with 
quick,  unequal  steps  and  the  fingers  of  one  hand 
fidgeted  about  his  mouth.  His  eyes,  flickering  back 
and  forth,  showed  an  almost  frantic  impatience;  poor 
Mrs.  Jakes'  melodious  noises  that  smoothed  balm  upon 
her  soul  were  evidently  making  havoc  with  his  nerves. 
He  seemed  to  have  forgotten,  in  the  stress  of  his  misery, 
that  others  were  present  to  see  him  and  enter  his  dis- 
ordered demeanor  upon  their  lists  of  his  shortcomings. 
As  he  faced  towards  her,  Margaret  saw  the  sideward 
sag  of  his  mouth  under  his  meager,  fair  mustache  and 
the  panic  of  his  white  eyeball  upturned.  His  decent 
black  clothes  only  accentuated  the  strangeness  of  him. 

**He  looks  dreadful,"  she  said;  ''dreadful. 
Oughtn't  you  to  go  to  him — or  something?" 

**No  use."  Ford  shook  his  head.  "7  know.  But 
I  wish  he  'd  go  to  his  study,  all  the  same.  If  he  stays 
here  he  may  break  down. ' ' 

123 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

*'Why  doesn't  he  go?"  asked  Margaret. 

*'He  can't  make  up  his  mind.  He  's  at  that  stage 
when  to  decide  to  do  anything  is  an  effort.  And  yet  the 
chap  's  suffering  for  the  only  thing  that  will  give  his 
nerves  relief.  Can't  help  pitying  him,  in  spite  of  every- 
thing, when  you  see  him  like  that." 

''Pitying  him — yes,"  agreed  Margaret.  Mrs.  Jakes 
with  her  foot  on  the  soft  pedal,  was  beginning  the  in- 
termezzo again  for  the  fifth  time  and  slurring  it 
dreamily  to  accord  with  her  brief  mood  of  contentment 
and  peace. 

**You  know,"  Margaret  went  on,  *'it  's  awfully  queer, 
really,  that  I  should  be  in  the  same  room  with  a  man 
in  that  condition.  Three  months  ago,  I  couldn't  have 
borne  it.  Except  sometimes  on  the  streets,  I  don't 
think  I  'd  ever  seen  a  drunken  man.  I  must  have 
changed  since  then  in  some  way. ' ' 

''Learned  something,  perhaps,"  suggested  Ford. 
"But  you  were  saying  you  found  things  dull.  Well, 
it  just  struck  me  that  you  'd  only  got  to  lift  up  your 
eyes  to  see  the  makings  of  a  drama,  and  while  you  're 
looking  on,  your  lungs  are  getting  better.  Aren't  you 
a  bit  hard  to  satisfy  ? ' ' 

"Am  I?  I  wonder."  They  were  seated  at  opposite 
ends  of  a  couch  which  faced  them  to  the  room,  and 
the  books  which  they  had  abandoned — loose-backed, 
much-handled  novels  from  the  doctor's  inelastic  stock 
of  literature — lay  face  down  between  them.  Margaret 
looked  across  them  at  Ford  with  a  smile ;  he  had  always 
a  reasonable  answer  to  her  complainings. 

"You  don't  take  enough  stock  in  human  nature,"  he 
said  seriously.  "Too  fastidious — that 's  what  you  are, 
and  it  makes  you  miss  a  lot." 

124 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

** Perhaps  you  're  right/'  she  answered.  **I.'ve  been 
thinking  something  of  the  kind  myself.  A  letter  I  had 
— from  a  girl  at  home — put  it  in  my  mind.  She  writes 
me  six  sheets  all  about  the  most  trivial  and  futile 
things  you  can  imagine,  but  she  speaks  of  them  with 
bated  breath,  as  it  were.  If  only  she  were  here  in- 
stead of  me,  she  'd  be  simply  thrilled.  I  wish  you  knew 
her.'' 

''I  wish  I  did,"  he  said.  '*I  've  always  had  an  idea 
that  the  good  Samaritan  was  a  prying,  inquisitive  kind 
of  chap,  and  that  's  really  what  made  him  cross  the 
road  to  the  other  fellow.  He  wanted  to  know  what 
was  up,  in  the  first  place,  and  the  rest  followed. ' ' 

*' Whereas — "  prompted  Margaret.  *'Go  on. 
What's  the  moral?" 

Ford  laughed.  **The  moral  is  that  there  's  plenty 
to  see  if  you  only  look  for  it,"  he  answered. 

* '  I  've  seen  one  thing,  at  any  rate,  without  looking 
for  it,  since  I  've  been  here,"  retorted  Margaret. 
** Something  you  don't  know  anything  about,  Mr. 
Ford." 

**What  was  that?"  he  demanded.  *' Nothing  about 
Jakes,  was  it?" 

**No;  nothing  about  him." 

She  hesitated.  She  had  it  in  her  mind  to  speak  to 
him  about  the  Kafir,  Kamis,  and  share  with  him  that 
mystery  in  return  for  the  explanations  which  he  could 
doubtless  give  of  its  less  comprehensible  features.  But 
at  that  moment  Mrs.  Jakes  ceased  playing  and  began 
to  put  the  score  away. 

**I  '11  tell  you  another  time,"  she  promised,  and 
picked  up  her  book  again. 

The  cessation  of  the  music  seemed  to  release  Dr. 
125 


FLOWER  0^  THE  PEACH 

'Jakes  from  the  spell  which  had  been  holding  him.  He 
stopped  walking  to  and  fro  and  strove  to  master  him- 
self for  the  necessary  moment  before  his  departure. 
He  turned  a  writhen,  twitching  face  on  his  wife. 

^ '  You  played  it  again  and  again, ' '  he  said,  with  a  sort 
of  dull  resentment. 

Mrs.  Jakes  looked  up  at  him  swiftly,  with  fear  in  her 
eyes. 

*' Don't  you  like  it,  Eustace?"  she  asked. 

He  only  stared  without  answering,  and  she  went  on 
speaking  hurriedly  to  cover  him. 

*  *  It  always  seems  to  me  such  a  sweet  piece, ' '  she  said. 
*'So  haunting.  Don't  you  think  so,  Miss  Harding? 
I  Ve  always  liked  it.  I  remember  there  was  a  tea- 
room in  Oxford  Street  where  they  used  to  have  a 
band  in  the  afternoons — just  fiddles  and  a  piano — 
and  they  used  to  play  it  there.  Many  's  the  time  I  've 
dropped  in  for  a  cup  of  tea  when  I  was  shopping — 
not  for  the  tea  but  just  to  sit  and  listen.  Their 
tea  wasn't  good,  for  the  matter  of  that,  but  lots  of 
people  went,  all  the  same.  Tyler's,  was  the  name, 
I  remember  now.  Do  you  know  Tyler's,  Miss  Hard- 
ing?" 

She  was  making  it  easy  for  the  doctor  to  get  away, 
after  his  custom,  but  either  the  enterprise  of  making  a 
move  was  too  difficult  for  him  or  else  an  unusual  per- 
versity possessed  him.  At  any  rate,  he  did  not  go. 
He  stood  listening  with  an  owlish  intentness  to  her 
nervous  babble. 

"I  know  Tyler's  very  well,"  answered  Margaret, 
coming  to  her  aid.  '*  Jolly  useful  place  it  is,  too.  But 
I  don't  remember  the  band." 

''/  used  to  go  to  the  Queen's  Hall,"  put  in  Dr. 
126 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

Jakes  hoarsely.  ''Monday  afternoons,  when  I  could 
get  away.    And  afterwards,  have  dinner  in  Soho.'* 

From  the  window,  where  Mr.  Samson  lay  in  an  arm- 
chair in  apparent  torpor,  came  a  wheeze,  and  the  single 
word,  ''Simpson's.'' 

Margaret  laughed.  "How  sumptuous,"  she  said. 
"Now,  Mr.  Ford,  you  tell  us  where  you  used  to  go." 

"Club,"  answered  Ford,  promptly.  "I  had  to  have 
something  for  my  subscription,  you  know,  so  I  went 
there  and  read  the  papers." 

Mrs.  Jakes  was  watching  her  husband  anxiously, 
while  Ford  and  Margaret  took  up  the  burden  of  incon- 
sequent talk  and  made  a  screen  of  trivialities  for  her. 
But  to-night  Dr.  Jakes  needed  expression  as  much  as 
whisky;  there  was  the  hopeless,  ineffectual  anger  of  a 
baited  animal  in  his  stare  as  he  faced  them. 

"Why  aren't  any  of  you  looking  at  me?"  he  said 
suddenly. 

None  answered;  only  Mr.  Samson  sat  up  on  his 
creaking  armchair  of  basketwork  with  an  amazed, 
"Eh?  What's  that?"  Margaret  stared  helplessly 
and  Mrs.  Jakes,  white-faced  and  tense,  murmured  im- 
ploringly, "Eustace." 

"Dodging  with  your  eyes  and  babbling  about  tea- 
shops,"  said  the  doctor  hotly.  "You  think,  because 
a  man  's  a  bit — " 

"Eustace,"  cried  Mrs.  Jakes,  clasping  her  hands. 
"Eustace  dear." 

It  was  wonderful  to  notice  how  her  habit  of  tone  held 
good  in  that  peril  which  whitened  her  face  and  made 
her  tremble  from  head  to  foot  as  she  stood.  From  her 
voice  alone,  one  would  have  implied  no  more  than  some 
playful  extravagance  on  the  doctor's  part;   she  still 

127 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

hoped  that  it  could  be  carried  off  on  the  plane  of  small 
affairs. 

*'Yoii  would  go  out  without  a  proper  hat  on,  Jakes," 
said  Ford  suddenly.  **Feel  stuffy  in  the  head,  don't 
your' 

**What  do  you  mean — stuffy?'*  demanded  Jakes. 

But  already  the  vigor  that  had  spurred  him  to  a 
demonstration  was  exhausted  and  the  need  for  alcohol, 
the  burning  physical  famine  for  nerve-reinforcement, 
had  him  in  its  grip. 

*' Stuffy?"  repeated  Ford,  watching  him  closely. 
*'0h,  you  know  what  I  mean.  I  Ve  seen  chaps  like  it 
heaps  of  times  after  a  day  in  the  sun;  they  get  the 
queerest  fancies.  You  really  ought  to  get  a  proper  hat, 
though." 

Mrs.  STakes  took  him  by  the  arm  persuasively. 
** Don't  you  think  you  'd  better  lie  down  for  a  bit, 
Eustace — ^in  the  study?" 

*'In  the  study?"  He  blinked  twice  or  thrice  pain- 
fully, and  made  an  endeavor  to  smile.  *'Yes,  perhaps. 
This — er — stuffy  feeling,  you  know — ^yes." 

His  wife's  arm  steered  him  to  the  door,  and  once  out 
of  the  room  he  dropped  it  and  fairly  bolted  across  the 
echoing  hall  to  his  refuge.  In  the  drawing-room  they 
heard  his  eager  feet  and  the  slam  of  the  door  that 
shut  him  in  to  his  miserable  deliverance  from  pain, 
and  the  double  snap  of  the  key  that  locked  out  the  world 
and  its  censorious  eyes. 

**You — ^you  just  managed  it,"  said  Margaret  to 
Ford.  The  queer  inconsequent  business  had  left  her 
rather  breathless.     **But  wasn't  it  horrible?" 

'*Some  day  we  shan't  be  able  to  talk  him  down,  and 
then  it  '11  be  worse,"  answered  Ford  soberly.    **That  11 

128 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

be  the  end  for  Mrs.  Jakes'  home.  But  you  played  up 
all  right,  you  know.  You  did  the  decent  thing,  and  in 
just  the  right  way.  And  I  was  glad,  because,  you 
know,  I  Ve  never  been  quite  sure  how  you  *d  shape." 

*'You  thought  I  'd  scream  for  help,  I  suppose,"  sug- 
gested Margaret. 

*'No,"  he  replied  slowly.  '^But  I  often  wondered 
whether,  when  the  time  came,  you  'd  go  to  your  room 
or  stay  and  lend  a  hand.  Not  that  you  wouldn't  be 
quite  right  to  stand  out,  for  it  's  a  foul  business,  all 
this,  and  there  's  nothing  pretty  in  it.  Still,  taking 
sides  is  a  sign  of  life  in  one's  body — and  I  'm  glad." 

** That's  all  right,  then,"  said  Margaret.  '*And 
it  's  enough  about  me  for  the  present,  too.  You  said 
that  some  day  it  won't  be  possible  any  more  to  talk  him 
down.     Did  you  mean — some  day  soonf 

** Goodness  knows,"  said  Ford.  He  leaned  back  and 
turned  his  head  to  look  over  the  back  of  the  couch  at 
Mr.  Samson.    ** Samson,"  he  called. 

'^Yes;  what?" 

''That  was  bad,  eh!    What 's  the  meaning  of  it?" 

Mr.  Samson  blew  out  his  breath  windily  and  un- 
crossed his  thin  legs.  ** Don't  care  to  go  into  it  before 
Miss  Harding,"  he  said  pointedly. 

*'0h,  bother,"  exclaimed  Margaret.  ''Don't  you 
think  I  want  to  know  too  ? " 

"Well,  then,"  said  Mr.  Samson,  with  careful  delib- 
eration, "since  you  ask  me,  I  'd  say  it  was  a  touch 
of  the  horrors  casting  its  shadow  before.  He  doesn't 
exactly  see  things,  y '  know,  but  that  's  what  's  com- 
ing. Next  thing  he  knows,  he  'II  see  snakes  or  cuttle- 
fish or  rats  all  round  the  room  and  he  '11 — he  '11  gibber. 
Sorry,  Miss  Harding,  but  you  wanted  to  know." 
»  129 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

''But — but — ''  Margaret  stared  aghast  at  the  feeble, 
urbane  old  man  asprawl  in  the  wicker  chair,  who  spoke 
with  genial  authority  on  these  matters  of  shadowy  hor- 
ror.    *'But  how  can  you  possibly  know  all  this?'* 

Mr.  Samson  smiled.  He  considered  it  fitting  and 
rather  endearing  that  a  young  woman  should  be  ig- 
norant of  such  things  and  easily  shocked  when  they 
were  revealed. 

**Seen  it  all  before,  my  dear  young  lady,''  he  assured 
her.  '*It  's  natural  you  should  be  surprised,  but  it  's 
not  so  uncommon  as  you  think.  Why,  I  remember, 
once,  in  '87,  a  feller  gettin'  out  of  a  cab  because  he  said 
there  was  a  bally  great  python  there — a  feller  I  knew ;  a 
member  of  Parliament." 

Margaret  looked  at  Ford,  who  nodded. 

*'He  knows  all  right,"  he  said,  quietly.  ''But  I 
don't  think  you  need  be  nervous.  When  it  comes  to 
that,  we  '11  have  to  do  something." 

"I  'm  not  nervous — not  in  that  way,  at  least,"  said 
Margaret.  "Only — must  it  come  to  that?  Isn't  there 
anything  that  can  be  done?" 

*'If  we  got  a  doctor  here,  the  chances  are  he  'd  report 
the  matter  to  the  authorities,"  said  Ford.  "This  place 
is  licensed  or  certified  or  something,  and  that  would  be 
the  end  of  it.  And  then,  even  if  there  wasn't  that,  it 
isn't  easy  to  put  the  matter  to  Mrs.  Jakes." 

"I — I  suppose  not,"  agreed  Margaret  thoughtfully. 
"Still,  if  you  decided  it  was  necessary — ^you  and  Mr. 
Samson — I  'd  be  willing  to  help  as  far  as  I  could.  I 
wouldn't  like  to  see  Mrs.  Jakes  suffer  for  lack  of  any- 
thing I  could  do." 

"That 's  good  of  you,"  answered  Ford.  "I  mean — 
130 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

good  of  you,  really.  We  won 't  leave  you  out  of  it  when 
the  time  comes,  because  we  shall  need  you. ' ' 

** Always  knew  Miss  Harding  was  a  sportsman,"  came 
unexpectedly  from  Mr.  Samson  in  the  rear.  And  then 
the  handle  of  the  door,  which  was  loose  and  arbitrary 
in  its  workings,  rattled  wamingly  and  Mrs.  Jakes  re- 
appeared. 

She  made  a  compunctious  mouth,  and  expressed  with 
headshakes  a  sense  that  all  was  not  well,  though  per- 
fectly natural  and  proper,  with  the  doctor.  Her  eyes 
seemed  rather  to  dwell  on  Margaret  as  she  gave  her  bul- 
letin. 

**Mr.  Ford  was  perfectly  right  about  the  hat,"  she 
said.  **  Perfectly  right.  He  ought  to  have  one  of  those 
white  ones  with  a  pugaree.  He  never  was  really  strong, 
you  know,  and  the  sun  goes  to  his  head  at  once. 
But  what  can  I  do?  He  simply  won't  listen  to  me 
when  I  tell  him  we  ought  to  go  Home.  The  number 
of  times  I  Ve  said  to  him,  *  Eustace,  give  it  up;  it 's 
killing  you,  Eustace,' — you  wouldn't  believe.  But 
he  's  lying  down  now,  and  I  think  he  '11  be  better  pres- 
ently." 

Mr.  Samson  spoke  again  from  the  background.  He 
didn't  believe  in  hitting  a  man  when  he  was  down,  Mr. 
Samson  didn't. 

'* Better  have  that  pith  helmet  of  mine,"  he  suggested. 
*'That  's  the  thing  for  him,  Mrs.  Jakes.  No  sense  in 
losin'  time  while  you  're  writin'  to  hatters — what?" 

**You  're  very  good,  Mr.  Samson,"  answered  Mrs. 
Jakes,  gratefully,  pausing  by  the  piano.  '*I  '11  men- 
tion it  to  the  doctor  in  the  morning ;  I  'm  sure  he  '11  be 
most  obliged.    He  's — he  's  greatly  troubled,  in  case  any 

131 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

of  you  should  feel — well — annoyed,  you  know,  at  any- 
thing he  said/' 

**Poor  Dr.  Jakes,"  said  Margaret.  **0f  course  not," 
chorused  the  others.  ** Don't  know  what  he  means," 
added  Mr.  Samson. 

Mrs.  ^akes  looked  from  one  to  another,  collecting 
their  responses  and  reassuring  herself. 

**He  '11  be  so  glad,"  she  said.  **And  now,  I  wonder 
— would  you  mind  if  I  just  played  the  intermezzo  a  lit- 
tle again?" 

The  easy  gradual  cadences  of  the  music  resumed  its 
government  of  the  room  as  Mrs.  Jakes  called  up  images 
of  less  poignant  days  to  aid  her  in  her  extremity,  sit- 
ting under  the  lamplight  very  upright  and  little  upon 
the  pedestal  stool.  For  the  others  also,  those  too  fa- 
miliar strains  induced  a  mood  of  reflection,  and  Mar- 
garet fell  back  on  a  word  of  Ford's  that  had  grappled 
at  her  mind  and  fallen  away  again.  His  mention  of 
the  need  of  a  doctor  and  the  difficulty  of  obtaining  one 
who  could  be  relied  upon  to  keep  a  shut  mouth  concern- 
ing Dr.  Jakes'  affairs  returned  to  her,  and  brought 
with  it  the  figure  of  Kamis,  mute,  inglorious,  with  his 
London  diploma,  wasting  his  skill  and  knowledge  liter- 
ally on  the  desert  air.  While  Mrs.  Jakes,  quite  invol- 
untarily, recalled  the  flavor  of  the  music-master  of  years 
ago,  who  played  of  nights  a  violin  in  the  orchestra  of 
the  Putney  Hippodrome  and  carried  a  Bohemian  glam- 
our about  him  on  his  daily  rounds,  Margaret's  mind 
was  astray  in  the  paths  of  the  Karoo  where  wandered 
under  the  stars,  unaccountable  and  heartrending,  a 
healer  clothed  with  the  flesh  and  skin  of  tragedy.  She 
remembered  him  as  she  had  seen  him,  below  the  dam 
waR,  with  Paul  hanging  on  his  words  and  the  humble 

ld2 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

clay  gathering  shape  under  his  hands,  lifting  his  blunt 
negro  face  to  her  and  speaking  in  deliberate,  schooled 
English  of  how  it  fared  in  Africa  with  a  black  man 
who  was  not  a  savage.  He  had  thanked  her  then  very 
movingly  for  merely  hearing  him  and  being  touched 
by  the  pity  and  strangeness  of  his  fate,  and  had  prom- 
ised to  come  to  her  whenever  she  should  signify  a  wish 
to  speak  with  him  again.  The  wish  was  not  wanting,  but 
the  opportunity  had  failed,  and  since  then  the  only 
token  of  him  had  been  the  scarlet  aloe  plumes,  fruit  of 
the  desert  gathered  in  loneliness,  which  he  had  con- 
veyed to  her  by  the  hands  of  Fat  Mary.  Like  himself, 
they  came  to  her  unexpected  and  unexplained,  and 
she  had  had  them  only  long  enough  to  know  they 
existed. 

Her  promise  to  Kamis  to  keep  her  acquaintance  with 
him  a  secret  had  withheld  her  so  far  from  sharing  the 
matter  with  Ford,  though  she  told  herself  more  than 
once  that  in  his  particular  case  the  promise  could  not  ap- 
ply. With  him  she  was  sure  there  could  be  no  risk; 
he  would  take  his  stand  on  the  clear  facts  of  the  situa- 
tion and  be  free  from  the  first  from  the  silly  violence 
of  thought  which  complicates  the  racial  question  in 
South  Africa.  She  had  even  pictured  to  herself  his 
reception  of  the  news,  when  he  received  it,  say,  across 
the  top  of  his  little  easel;  he  would  pause,  the  palette 
knife  between  his  fingers,  and  frown  consideringly  at 
the  sticky  mess  before  him  on  the  canvas.  His  lean, 
sober,  courageous  face  would  give  no  index  to  the  direc- 
tion of  his  mind;  he  would  put  it  to  the  test  of  his 
queer,  sententious  logic  with  all  due  deliberation,  till  at 
last  he  would  look  up  decidedly  and  commit  himself 
to  the  reasonable  and  human  attitude  of  mind.    **As 

133 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEAGH 

I  see  it/'  he  would  probably  begin;  or  '^Well,  the  posi- 
tion 's  pretty  clear,  I  think.  It  's  like  this/'  And 
then  he  would  state -^the  matter  with  all  his  harsh,  youth- 
ful wisdom,  tempered  a  little  by  natural  kindliness  and 
gentleness  of  heart.  And  all  would  be  well,  with  a 
confidant  gained  into  the  bargain.  But,  nevertheless, 
he  had  not  yet  been  told. 

Mrs.  Jakes  was  perfunctory,  that  evening  with  her 
good  nights;  with  all  her  efforts  to  appear  at  ease  the 
best  she  could  do  was  to  appear  a  little  absent-minded. 
She  gave  Margaret  her  breakfast  smile  instead  of  her 
farewell  one  and  stared  at  her  curiously  as  she  stood 
aside  to  let  the  girl  pass  up-stairs.  She  had  the  air  of 
passing  her  in  review. 

It  seemed  to  Margaret  that  she  had  been  asleep  for 
many  hours  when  she  was  awakened  and  found  the 
night  still  dark  about  her.  Some  blurred  fragments 
of  a  dream  still  clung  to  her  and  dulled  her  wits;  she 
had  watched  again  the  passing  before  the  stoep  of  Van 
Zyl's  captives  and  seen  their  dragging  feet  lift  the  dust 
and  the  hopelessness  of  their  white  eyes.  But  with 
them,  the  mounted  men  seemed  to  ride  to  the  accompan- 
iment of  hoofs  clattering  as  they  do  not  clatter  on  the 
dry  earth  of  the  Karoo;  they  clicked  insistently  like  a 
cab  horse  trotting  smartly  on  wood  pavement,  and  then, 
when  that  had  barely  headed  off  her  thoughts  and  let 
her  glimpse  a  far  vista  of  long  evening  streets,  popu- 
lous with  traffic,  she  was  awake  and  sitting  up  in  her 
bed,  and  the  noise  was  Mrs.  Jakes  standing  in  the  half- 
open  door  and  tapping  on  the  panels  to  wake  her. 
She  carried  a  candle  which  showed  her  face  in  an  un- 
steady, upward  illumination  and  filled  it  unfamiliarly 
with  shadows. 

134 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

'*What  is  it?"  called  Margaret.  ''Come  in,  Mrs. 
Jakes.     Is  there  anything  wrong ?'^ 

Mrs.  Jakes  entered  and  closed  the  door  behind  her. 
She  was  fully  dressed  still,  even  to  the  garnet  brooch 
she  wore  of  evenings,  which  she  had  once  purchased 
from  a  countess  at  a  bazaar.  Stranger  far,  she  wore  an 
embarrassed,  confidential  little  smile  as  though  some 
one  had  turned  a  laugh  against  her.  She  came  to  Mar- 
garet's bedside  and  stood  there  with  her  candle. 

"My  dear,"  she  said;  ''I  know  it's  very  awkward^ 
but  I  feel  I  can  trust  you.  We  are  friends,  aren't 
we?" 

**Yes,"  said  Margaret,  staring  at  her.  *'But  what 
is  it?" 

*'Well,"  said  Mrs.  Jakes,  very  deliberately,  and  still 
with  the  same  little  smile,  ''it  's  an  awkward  thing,  but 
I  want  you  to  help  me.  I  don't  care  to  ask  Mr.  Samson 
or  Mr.  Ford,  because  they  might  not  understand.  So, 
as  we  're  friends — " 

"Is  anybody  dead?"  demanded  Margaret. 

Mrs.  Jakes  made  a  shocked  face.  "Dead.  No.  My 
dear,  if  that  was  it,  you  may  be  sure  I  should  n't  trouble 
you.  No,  nobody  's  dead ;  it  's  nothing  of  that  kind  at 
all.     I  only  just  want  a  little  help,  and  I  thought — " 

"You  're  making  me  nervous,"  said  Margaret.  "I  'U 
help  if  I  can,  but  do  say  what  it  is." 

Mrs.  Jakes'  smile  wavered;  she  did  not  find  it  easy  to 
say  what  it  was.  She  put  her  candle  down  upon  a 
chair,  to  speak  without  the  strain  of  light  on  her  face. 

"It 's  the  doctor,"  she  said.  "He  's  had  a — a  fit, 
my  dear.  He  thought  a  little  fresh  air  would  do  him 
good  and  he  went  out.  And  the  fact  is,  I  can't  quite 
manage  to  get  him  in  by  myself." 

135 


FLOWER  0^  THE  PEACH 

*^Eh?"  Margaret  stared.    "Where  is  he?''  she  asked. 

'*He  got  as  far  as  the  road  and  then  he  fell,"  said 
Mrs.  Jakes.  **I  wouldn't  dream  of  troubling  you,  my 
dear,  but  I  'm — I  'm  rather  tired  to-night  and  I  really 
couldn't  manage  by  myself.  And  then  I  remembered 
we  were  friends." 

'*Not  till  then?"  asked  Margaret.  '*You  don't  care 
to  wake  Mr.  Ford?    He  wouldn't  misunderstand." 

'*0h,  no — ^please,"  begged  Mrs.  Jakes,  terrified. 
'*No,  please.  I  'd  rather  manage  alone,  somehow — ^I 
would,  really." 

'*You  can't  do  that,"  said  Margaret,  decidedly.  She 
sat  a  space  of  moments  in  thought.  The  doctor's  fit 
did  not  deceive  her  at  all ;  she  knew  that  for  one  of  the 
euphemisms  that  made  Mrs.  Jakes'  life  livable  to  her. 
He  was  drunk  and  incapable  upon  the  road  before  the 
house,  and  Mrs.  Jakes,  helpless  and  frightened,  had 
waked  her  in  the  middle  of  the  night  to  help  bring  the 
drunken  man  in  and  hide  him. 

*'I  '11  help  you,"  she  said  suddenly.  ** Don't  you 
worry  any  more,  Mrs.  Jakes;  we  '11  manage  it  some- 
how.    Let  me  get  some  things  on  and  we  '11  go  out." 

**It  's  very  kind  of  you,  my  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Jakes 
humbly.  **You  '11  put  some  warm  things  on,  won't 
you?  The  doctor  would  never  forgive  me  if  I  let  you 
catch  cold." 

Margaret  was  fumbling  for  her  stockings. 

**I  'm  not  very  strong,  you  know,"  she  suggested. 
''I  '11  do  all  I  can,  but  hadn't  we  better  call  Fat  Mary? 
She  's  strong  enough  for  anything." 

*'Fat  Mary!  A  Kafir!"  Mrs.  Jakes  forgot  her  cau- 
tion and  for  the  moment  was  shrill  with  protest. 
**Why — ^why,  the  doctor  would  never  hold  up  his  head 

136 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

again.  It  wouldn't  do  at  all;  I  simply  couldn't  think 
of  it." 

**  Oh,  well.  As  you  like ;  I  did  n't  know.  Here  's  me, 
anyhow ;  and  awfully  willing  to  be  useful. ' ' 

But  Mrs.  Jakes  had  been  startled  in  earnest.  While 
Margaret  completed  a  sketchy  toilet  she  stood  murmur- 
ing: "A  Kafir!  Why,  the  very  idea — it  would  break 
the  doctor's  heart." 

With  her  dressing-gown  held  close  about  her,  Mar- 
garet went  down-stairs  by  the  side  of  Mrs.  'Jakes  and 
her  candle,  with  the  abrupt  shadows  prancing  before 
them  on  wall  and  ceiling  like  derisive  spectators  of 
their  enterprise.  But  there  was  no  sense  of  adventure 
in  it;  somehow  the  matter  had  ranged  itself  prosaically 
and  Mrs.  Jakes,  prim  and  controlled,  managed  to  throw 
over  it  the  commonplace  hue  of  an  undertaking  which 
is  adequately  chaperoned.  The  big  hall,  solemn  and  re- 
served, had  no  significant  emptiness,  and  from  the  study 
there  was  audible  the  ticking  of  some  stolid  little  clock. 

The  front  door  of  the  house  was  open,  and  a  faint 
wind  entered  by  it  and  made  Margaret  shiver ;  it  showed 
them  a  slice  of  night  framed  between  its  posts  and  two 
misty  still  stars  like  vacant  eyes. 

*'It  's  not  far,"  said  Mrs.  Jakes,  on  the  stoep,  and 
then  the  faint  wind  rustled  for  a  moment  in  the  dead 
vines  and  the  candle-flame  swooped  and  went  out. 

**You  haven't  matches,  my  dear?"  enquired  Mrs. 
Jakes,  patiently.  *'No?  But  we  '11  want  a  light.  I 
could  fetch  a  lantern  if  you  wouldn't  mind  waiting. 
I  think  I  know  where  it  is." 

''AH  right,"  agreed  Margaret.     ''I  don't  mind." 

It  was  the  first  thrill  of  the  business,  to  be  left  alone 
while  Mrs.  Jakes  tracked  that  lantern  to  its  hiding-place. 

137 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

Margaret  slowly  descended  the  steps  from  the  stoep  and 
sat  down  on  the  lowest  of  them  to  look  at  the  night. 
There  was  a  touch  of  chill  in  it,  and  she  gathered  her- 
self up  closely,  with  her  hands  clasped  around  her  knees. 
The  wide  sleeves  of  the  dressing-gown  fell  back  and 
left  her  arms  bare  to  the  elbow  and  the  recurring  wind, 
like  a  cold  breath,  touched  her  on  the  chest  where  the 
loose  robe  parted.  The  immensity  of  the  night,  veiling 
with  emptiness  unimaginable  bare  miles,  awed  her  like 
a  great  presence;  there  was  no  illumination,  or  none 
but  the  faintest,  making  darkness  only  apparent,  from 
the  heavenful  of  pale  blurred  stars  that  hung  over  her. 
Behind  her,  the  house  with  those  it  held  was  dumb;  it 
was  the  Karoo  that  was  vocal.  As  she  sat,  a  score  of 
voices  pressed  upon  her  ears.  She  heard  chirpings  and 
little  furtive  cries,  the  far  hoot  of  some  bold  bird  and  by 
and  by  the  heartbroken  wailing  of  a  jackal.  She 
seemed  to  sit  at  the  edge  of  a  great  arena  of  unguessed 
and  unsuspected  destinies,  fighting  their  way  to  their 
fulfilment  in  the  hours  of  darkness.  And  then  sud- 
denly, she  was  aware  of  a  noise  recurring  regularly, 
a  civilized  and  familiar  noise,  the  sound  of  footsteps,  of 
somebody  walking  on  the  earth  near  at  hand. 

She  heard  it  before  she  recognized  it  for  what  it  was, 
and  she  was  not  alarmed.  The  footsteps  came  close 
before  she  spoke. 

**Is  anybody  there,  please?"  she  called. 

The  answer  came  at  once.    **Yes,"  it  said. 

**Who  is  it?"  she  asked  again,  and  in  answer  to  her 
question,  the  night-walker  loomed  into  her  view  and 
stood  before  her. 

She  rose  to  her  feet  with  a  little  breathless  laugh,  for 
she  recognized  him. 

138 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

"Oh,  it's  you,"  she  exclaimed.  **Mr.  Kamis,  isn't 
it?  But  what  are  you  doing  here  at  this  time  of 
night  r' 

It  was  not  light  enough  to  see  his  face ;  she  had  rec- 
ognized him  by  the  figure  and  attitude;  and  she  was 
glad.  She  was  aware  then  that  she  rather  dreaded 
the  negro  face  of  him. 

**What  are  you  doing,  rather?"  he  asked.  *'Does 
anybody  know  you  're  out  here  like  this?  Is  it  part  of 
some  silly  treatment,  or  what?" 

*'I  'm  waiting  for  Mrs.  Jakes,"  said  Margaret. 
''She  's  coming  with  a  lantern  in  a  minute  or  two  and 
you  11  have  to  go.  It 's  all  right,  though;  I  shan't  take 
any  harm." 

**I  hope  not."  He  was  plainly  dissatisfied,  and  it 
was  very  strange  to  catch  the  professional  restraint  in 
his  voice.  **Your  being  here — if  I  may  ask — ^hasn't 
got  anything  to  do  with  a  very  drunk  man  lying  in 
the  road  over  there?" 

''You  've  seen  him,  then?"  asked  Margaret.  "It  is 
just  drunkenness,  of  course?" 

He  nodded.     "But  why — ?"  he  began  again. 

"That  's  Dr.  Jakes,"  explained  Margaret.  "And 
I  'm  going  to  help  Mrs.  Jakes  to  fetch  him  in,  quietly, 
BO  that  nobody  will  know.  So  you  see  why  you  must 
keep  very  quiet  and  slip  away  before  she  sees  you — dor 't 
you?" 

There  was  a  pause  before  he  answered. 

"But,  good  Lord,"  he  burst  out.  "This  is — this  is 
damnable.  You  can 't  have  a  hand  in  this  kind  of  thing ; 
it  's  impossible.  What  on  earth  are  these  people  think- 
ing of?  You  mustn't  let  them  drag  you  into  beastli- 
ness of  this  kind." 

139 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

''Wait,"  said  Margaret.  '* Don't  be  so  furious.  No- 
body is  dragging  me  into  anything,  and  I  don't  think 
I  'm  a  very  draggable  person,  anyhow.  I  'd  only  to  be 
a  little  shocked  once  or  twice  and  I  should  never  have 
heard  of  this.  I  'm  doing  it  because — well,  because  I 
want  to  be  useful  and  Mrs.  Jakes  came  to  me  and  asked, 
*Was  I  her  friend?'  That  isn't  very  clear  to  you,  per- 
haps, but  there  it  is." 

*' Useful."  He  repeated  the  word  scornfully.  *' Use- 
ful— ^yes.  But  do  you  mean  that  this  is  the  only  use 
they  can  find  for  you  ? ' ' 

**I  'm  an  invalid,"  said  Margaret  placidly.  **A 
crock,  you  know.  I  've  got  to  take  what  chances  I  can 
find  of  doing  things.  But  it  's  no  use  explaining  such 
a  thing  as  this.  If  you  're  not  going  to  understand 
and  be  sympathetic,  don't  let  's  talk  about  it  at  all." 

He  did  not  at  once  reply.  She  stood  on  the  last  step 
but  one  and  looked  down  towards  him  where  he  stood 
like  a  part  of  the  night,  and  though  she  could  see  of  him 
only  the  shape,  she  showed  to  him  as  a  tall  slenderness, 
with  the  faint  luminosity  of  bare  arms  and  face  and 
neck.     He  seemed  to  be  staring  at  her  very  intently. 

*' Anyhow,"  he  said  suddenly — ''what  is  wanted  prin- 
cipally is  to  bring  him  in.  That  is  so,  is  n  't  it  ?  Well, 
I  '11  fetch  him  for  you.  Will  you  be  satisfied  with 
that?" 

**No,  you  mustn't,"  said  Margaret.  *'Mrs.  Jakes 
wouldn't  allow  it.  Never  mind  why.  She  simply 
wouldn't." 

*'I  know  why,"  he  answered.  '*I  've  come  across  all 
that  before.  But  this  Kafir  has  seen  the  state  of  that 
white  man.     That  doesn't  make  any  difference?    No?" 

Margaret  had  shaken  her  head.  ''I  'm  awfully 
140 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

sorry/'  she  said.  **I  feel  like  a  brute — ^but  if  you  had 
seen  her  when  I  suggested  getting  help.  It  was  the  one 
thing  that  terrified  her.  You  see,  it 's  her  I  want  to 
help,  much  more  than  Dr.  Jakes,  and  she  must  have  her 
way.     So  please  don't  be  hurt,  will  you?" 

He  laughed  a  little.  '*0h,  that  doesn't  hurt  me," 
he  said.  *'If  it  were  you,  it  would  be  different,  but 
Mrs.  Jakes  can't  help  it.  However — do  you  know 
where  this  man  keeps  his  drugs?" 

**In  the  study,"  answered  Margaret.  **In  there,  on 
the  left.     But  why?" 

.  **I  'm  a  doctor  too ;  you'd  forgotten  that,  had  n't  you? 
If  I  had  two  or  three  things  I  could  mix  something  that 
would  sober  him  in  a  couple  of  minutes." 

* '  Really  ? ' '  Margaret  considered  it  for  a  minute,  but 
even  that  would  not  do.  She  could  not  bring  herself 
to  brave  Mrs.  Jakes'  horror  and  sense  of  betrayal  when 
she  should  see  the  deliverer  who  came  out  of  the  night. 
And,  after  all,  it  was  she  who  had  claimed  Margaret's 
help.  ''We're  friends,  aren't  we?"  she  had  asked, 
and  the  girl  had  answered  **Yes."  It  was  not  the  part 
of  a  friend  to  press  upon  her  a  gift  that  tasted  pun- 
gently  of  ruin  and  shame. 

**No,"  said  Margaret.  ** Don't  offer  any  more  help, 
please.  It  hurts  to  keep  on  refusing  it.  But  it  isn't 
what  Mrs.  Jakes  woke  me  up  to  beg  of  me  and  it  is  r,  't 
what  I  got  up  from  bed  to  grant  her.  Can't  you  see 
what  I  mean?  I  've  told  you  all  about  it,  and  I  'm 
trusting  you  to  understand." 

**I  understand,"  he  answered.  **But  I  hate  to  let 
you  go  down  to  that  drunken  beast.  And  suppose  the 
pair  of  you  can't  manage  him — what  will  you  do  then? 
You  '11  have  to  get  help  somewhere,  won't  you?" 

141 


FLOWER  O^  THE  PEACH 

*'I  suppose  so/'  said  Margaret. 

*'Well,  get  me,''  he  urged,  and  came  a  pace  nearer, 
so  that  only  the  width  of  the  two  bottom  steps  sepa- 
rated them  and  she  could  feel  his  breath  upon  the  hands 
that  hung  clasped  before  her.  *'Let  me  help,  if  you 
need  it,"  he  begged.  **I  '11  wait,  out  of  sight.  Mrs. 
Jakes  shan't  guess  I  'm  there.  But  I  won't  be  far,  and 
if  you  just  call  quietly,  I  '11  hear.  It — ^it  would  be  kind 
of  you — ^merciful  to  let  me  bear  just  a  hand.  And  if 
you  don't  call,  I  '11  not  show  myself.  There  can't  be 
any  harm  in  that." 

**No,"  agreed  Margaret,  uncertainly.  ** There  can't 
be  any  harm  in  that." 

She  saw  that  he  moved  abruptly,  and  had  an  im- 
pression that  he  made  some  gesture  almost  of  glee. 
But  he  thanked  her  in  quiet  tones  for  her  grace  of 
consent. 

Mrs.  Jakes,  returning,  found  Margaret  as  she  had  left 
her.  She  had  in  her  hand  one  of  those  stable  lanterns 
which  consist  of  a  glass  funnel  protected  by  a  wire  cage, 
and  she  spilled  its  light  about  her  feet  as  she  went  and 
walked  in  a  shifting  ring  of  light  through  a  darkness 
made  more  opaque  by  the  contrast.  There  was  visible 
of  her  chiefly  her  worn  elastic-sided  boots  as  she  came 
down  the  steps  with  the  lantern  swinging  in  her  hand; 
and  the  little  feet  in  those  uncomely  coverings  were 
somehow  appealing  and  pathetic. 

**I  found  it  in  Fat  Mary's  room,"  she  explained. 
*  *  She  nearly  woke  up  when  I  was  taking  it. ' ' 

Margaret  wondered  whether  Kamis  were  near  enough 
to  hear  and  acute  enough  to  picture  the  tiptoe  search 
for  the  lantern  by  the  bedside  of  snoring  Kafirs,  the 
breathless  halts  when   one  stirred,   the   determination 

142 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

that  carried  the  quest  through,  and  the  prosaic  matter- 
of-factness  of  it  all. 

They  stumbled  their  way  arm  in  arm  across  the  spit 
of  patched  grass  that  stood  between  the  house  and  the 
road,  and  the  lantern  diffused  about  them  a  yellow  haze. 
Then  their  feet  recognized  soft  loose  dust  and  they  were 
on  the  road  and  moving  along  it. 

'* It  is  n't  far,"  said  Mrs.  Jakes,  in  her  flat  quiet  voice. 
**Be  careful,  my  dear;  there  are  sometimes  snakes  on 
the  road  at  night." 

Dr.  Jakes  was  apparent  first  as  an  indeterminate  bulk 
against  the  dust  that  spread  before  them  under  the  lan- 
tern.    Mrs.  Jakes  saw  him  first. 

**He  hasn't  moved,"  she  remarked.  "I  was  rather 
afraid  he  might  have.  These  fits,  you  know — he  's  had 
them  before." 

She  stood  at  his  head,  with  the  lantern  held  before 
her,  like  a  sentinel  at  a  lying-in-state,  and  the  whole  un- 
loveliness  of  his  slumbers  was  disclosed.  He  sprawled 
upon  the  road  in  his  formal  black  clothes,  with  one  arm 
outstretched  and  his  face  upturned  to  the  grave  inno- 
cence of  the  night.  It  had  not  the  cast  of  repose;  he 
seemed  to  have  carried  his  torments  with  him  to  his 
couch  of  dust  and  to  brood  upon  them  under  his  mask 
of  sleep.  What  was  ghastly  was  the  eyelids  which 
were  not  fully  shut  down,  but  left  bare  a  thin  line  of 
white  eyeball  under  each,  and  touched  the  broken  coun- 
tenance with  deathliness.  His  coat,  crumpled  about 
him  and  over  him,  gave  an  impression  of  a  bloated  and 
corpulent  body,  and  he  was  stained  from  head  to  foot 
with  dust. 

Mrs.  Jakes  surveyed  him  without  emotion. 

**He  's  undone  his  collar,  anyhow,"  she  remarked. 
143 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

**  Did  n't  you  do  it?"  asked  Margaret,  seeing  the 
white  ends  that  rose  on  each  side  of  his  chin. 

*'No;  I  forgot,"  was  the  answer.  **He  can't  be  very- 
bad,  since  he  did  that." 

Margaret  detected  the  hand  of  Kamis  in  this  precau- 
tion. She  said  nothing,  but  stooped  with  Mrs.  Jakes 
to  try  to  rouse  the  doctor.  The  sickening  reek  of  the 
man's  breath  affronted  her  as  she  bent  over  him. 

Mrs.  Jakes  shook  him  and  called  on  him  by  name  in 
a  loud  half -whisper,  lowering  her  face  close  to  his  ear. 
She  was  persuasive,  remonstrant;  she  had  the  manner 
of  reasoning  briskly  with  him  and  rousing  him  to  better 
ways. 

** Eustace,  Eustace,"  she  called,  hushing  her  tones 
as  though  the  night  and  the  desert  were  perilous  with 
ears.  **Come,  Eustace;  you  can  get  up  if  you  try. 
Make  just  one  effort,  now,  and  you  '11  be  all  right." 

The  gurgle  of  his  breath  was  the  only  answer. 

*  *  We  '11  have  to  lift  him, ' '  she  said,  staring  across  his 
body  at  Margaret. 

**A11  right,"  agreed  the  girl. 

*'Get  hold  of  his  right  arm  and  I  '11  take  his  left," 
directed  Mrs.  Jakes.  *'If  we  get  him  on  his  feet,  per- 
haps he  '11  rouse.     Are  you  ready?" 

Margaret  closed  her  lips  and  put  forth  the  strength 
that  she  had,  and  between  them  they  dragged  him  to  a 
sitting  posture,  with  his  head  hanging  back  and  his 
heels  furrowed  deep  in  the  dust. 

**Now,  if  I  can  just  get  behind  him,"  panted  Mrs. 
Jakes.  *^ Don't  let  go.  That's  it.  Now!  Could  you 
just  help  to  lift  him  straight  up?" 

Margaret  went  quickly  to  her  aid.  It  had  become 
horrible.     The  gross*  carcass  in  their  hands  was  inert 

144 


FLOWER  0^  THE  PEACH 

like  a  flabby  corpse,  and  its  mere  weight  overtaxed  them. 
They  wrestled  with  it  sobbingly,  to  the  noise  of  their 
harsh  breath  and  the  shuffle  of  their  straining  feet  on 
the  grit  of  the  road.  Suddenly  Margaret  ceased  her 
laboring  and  the  doctor  collapsed  once  more  upon  the 
ground. 

''Why  did  you  do  that?"  cried  Mrs.  Jakes.  **He  was 
nearly  up." 

'*It  was  my  chest,"  answered  Margaret  weakly.  **It 
—it  hurt." 

There  was  a  warm  feeling  in  her  throat  and  a  taste  in 
her  mouth  which  she  knew  of  old.  She  found  her  hand- 
kerchief and  dabbed  with  it  at  her  lips.  The  feeble 
light  of  the  lantern  showed  her  the  result — the  red 
spots  on  the  white  cambric. 

*'It  's  just  a  strain,"  said  Mrs.  Jakes,  dully. 
*'That  's  all.  The  doctor  will  see  to  it  to-morrow.  If 
you  rest  a  moment,  you  11  be  all  right. ' '  She  hesitated, 
but  her  husband  and  her  life's  credit  lay  upon  the 
ground  at  her  feet,  and  she  could  not  weigh  Margaret's 
danger  against  those.  *'You  wouldn't  leave  me  now, 
my  dear?"  she  supplicated. 

''No,"  said  the  girl,  after  a  moment's  pause.  "I 
won't  leave  you." 

"What  's  that?"  cried  Mrs.  Jakes  and  put  a  quick 
frightened  hand  upon  her  arm.     ' '  Listen !    Who  is  it  ? " 

Steps,  undisguised  and  clear,  passed  from  the  grass 
to  the  stone  steps  of  the  house  and  ascended,  crossed 
the  stoep  and  were  lost  to  hearing  in  the  doorway. 

The  two  women  waited,  breathless.  It  sprang  to  Mar- 
garet's mind  that  the  lantern  must  have  shown  her 
clearly  to  Kamis,  where  he  waited  in  the  darkness,  and 
he  must  have  seen  the  climax  of  her  efforts  and  her 
10  145 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

handkerchief  at  her  lips,  and  gone  forthwith  to  the 
study  for  the  drugs  which  would  put  an  end  to  the  mat- 
ter. 

''Look/'  whispered  Mrs.  'Jakes.  ''Some  one  is  strik- 
ing matches — in  the  study. ' ' 

The  window  brightened  and  darkened  again  and  then 
lit  with  a  steady  glow ;  the  invader  had  found  a  candle. 
Mrs.  Jakes  dropped  Margaret's  arm. 

"I  must  see  who  it  is,'*  she  said.  "Walking  into  peo- 
ple's houses  like  this." 

Margaret  held  her  back;  she  was  starting  forthwith 
to  bring  the  majesty  of  her  presence  to  bear  on  the  un- 
known and  possibly  dangerous  intruder.  Mrs.  Jakes 
had  a  house  as  well  as  a  husband  and  could  die  at  need 
for  either. 

"No,  don't  go,"  said  Margaret.  "I  know  who  it  is. 
It 's  all  right,  if  only  you  won't  be — well,  silly  about 
it." 

"Who  is  it,  then?"    demanded  Mrs.  Jakes. 

Margaret  felt  feeble  and  unequal  to  the  position.  Her 
chest  was  painful,  she  was  cold,  and  now  there  was  about 
to  be  a  delicate  affair  with  Mrs.  Jakes.  She  could  have 
laughed  at  the  growing  complexity  of  things,  but  had  the 
wit  not  to. 

"It  's  a  doctor, ' '  she  said ;  " a  real  London  doctor.  He 
was  passing  when  you  left  me  to  get  the  lantern,  and  I 
wouldn't  let  him  stay  because  I  thought  you  'd  be  an- 
noyed.    He  's  gone  into  the  house  to — " 

"Does  he  know?"  whispered  Mrs.  Jakes,  feverishly, 
thrusting  close  to  her.  "Does  he  know — about  this?" 
Her  downward-pointing  finger  indicated  the  slumbers 
of  Dr.  Jakes.     "Say,  can't  you — does  he  know?" 

"IJe  'd  seen  him,"  said  Margaret.  "I  expect  he 
146 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

loosened  the  collar — ^you  know.  He  wanted  to  help  but 
I  wouldn't  let  him/^ 

**Is  he  a  friend  of  yours?"  asked  Mrs.  Jakes  again, 
still  in  the  same  agitated  whisper. 

**Yes,"  answered  Margaret.  ^'He  is.  It  's  all  right, 
really,  if  only  you  '11  be  sensible  and  not  make  a  fuss. 
He  '11  help  us  and  then  he  '11  go  away  and  he  '11  say 
nothing.  You  did  n  't  think  I  'd  do  anything  to  hurt 
you,  did  you  ?     Are  n  't  we  friends  ? ' ' 

Mrs.  Jakes  stood  silent;  she  asked  no  questions  as  to 
how  a  London  doctor,  a  friend  of  Margaret's,  chanced 
to  be  walking  upon  the  Karoo  at  night. 

**Well,"  she  said  at  last,  with  a  long  sigh;  '^perhaps 
we  might  have  needed  some  help,  in  any  case. ' ' 

That  was  all  she  said,  till  the  footsteps  came  again 
across  the  stoep  and  down  the  steps,  more  deliberately 
this  time,  as  though  something  were  being  carried  with 
precaution.  Then  they  were  noiseless  for  a  minute  or 
more  on  the  grass,  and  at  last  the  figure  of  Kamis  came 
into  the  further  edge  of  the  lighted  circle. 

**I  had  to  do  it,"  he  said,  before  either  of  them  could 
speak,  and  showed  the  graduated  glass  in  his  hand.  *  *  I 
saw  you  with  your  handkerchief. ' ' 

Margaret,  with  an  instinct  of  apprehension,  looked  at 
Mrs.  Jakes.  At  the  first  dim  view  of  him,  she  had  roused 
herself  from  her  dejection,  and  put  on  her  prim,  social 
face  to  meet  the  London  doctor  effectively.  Her  little 
meaningless  smile  was  bent  for  him;  she  would  make  a 
blameless  and  uneventful  drawing-room  of  the  August 
night  and  guard  it  against  unseemly  dramatics. 

He  turned  from  Margaret  towards  her  and  came  fur- 
ther into  the  lamp-light,  and  she  had  a  clear  view  of  the 
black  face  and  sorrowful,  foolish  negro  features.     She 

147 


FLOWER  0^  THE  PEACH 

uttered  a  gasp  that  was  like  a  low  cry  and  stood  aghast, 
staring. 

** Madam,"  began  Kamis. 

She  shivered.  **A  Kafir,"  she  said.  ''The  doctor 
will  never  forgive  ns."  And  then,  wheeling  upon  Mar- 
garet, ''And  I  '11  never  forgive  you.  You  said  we  were 
friends — and  this  is  what  you  do  to  me. ' ' 

"Mrs.  Jakes,"  implored  Margaret.  "You  must  be 
sensible.     It  's  all  right,  really.     This  gentleman — " 

"This  gentleman,"  Mrs.  Jakes  uttered  a  passionate 
spurt  of  laughter.  "Do  you  mean  this  nigger?  Gen- 
tleman, you  call  it?  A  London  doctor?  A  friend  of 
yours?  A  friend.  Ha,  ha!"  She  spun  round  again 
towards  Kamis,  waiting  with  the  glass  in  his  hand,  the 
liquid  in  which  shone  greenish  to  the  lamp.  '^Voet- 
zaak!"  she  ordered,  shrilly.  '^Eamha  wena — ch'che, 
Skellum.    Injah.     Yoetzaak!'' 

Kamis  stood  his  ground.  He  east  a  look  at  Margaret, 
past  Mrs.  Jakes,  and  spoke  to  her. 

"Will  she  let  me  give  him  this?"  he  asked.  "Tell 
her  I  am  a  doctor  and  this  will  bring  him  to  very 
quickly.  And  then  I  '11  go  away  at  once  and  never  say 
a  word  about  it." 

"Don't  you  dare  touch  him,"  menaced  Mrs.  Jakes. 
"A  filthy  Kafir — I  should  think  so,  indeed." 

Kamis  went  on  in  the  same  steady  tone.  "If  she 
won't  you  must  go  in  at  once  and  send  for  another  doc- 
tor to-morrow.     This  man  ought  to  be  reported." 

"You  dare,"  cried  Mrs.  Jakes.  "You  'd  report  him 
• — a  Kafir."  She  edged  closer  to  the  prostrate  body  of 
Dr.  Jakes  and  stood  beside  it  like  a  beast-mother  at  bay. 
"I  '11  have  you  locked  up — walking  into  my  husband's 
study  like  that." 

148 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

''Mrs.  Jakes."  Margaret  tried  once  more.  "Please 
listen.  If  you  '11  only  let  the  doctor  have  this  drink, 
he  '11  be  able  to  walk.  If  you  don't,  he  '11  have  to  stay 
here.  I  am  your  friend ;  I  got  up  when  you  came  to  me 
and  I  said  I  wouldn't  leave  you  even  when  I  hurt  my 
chest.  Doesn't  that  prove  that  I  am?  I  wouldn't  do 
you  any  harm  or  shame  you  before  other  people  for  any- 
thing. What  will  Dr.  Jakes  say  if  he  finds  out  that  you 
let  me  stay  here  pleading  when  I  ought  to  be  in  bed? 
He  's  a  doctor  himself  and  he  '11  be  awfully  annoyed — 
after  telling  me  I  should  get  well,  too.  Aren't  you  go- 
ing to  give  him  a  chance — and  me?" 

Mrs.  Jakes  merely  glared  stonily. 

"Come,"  said  Margaret.    "Won't  you?" 

Kamis  uttered  a  smothered  exclamation.  "I  won't 
wait,"  he  said.  "1 11  count  ten,  slowly.  Then  Miss 
Harding  must  go  in  and  I  go  away." 

"Oh,  don't  begin  that  sort  of  thing,"  cried  Margaret. 
"Mrs.  Jakes  is  going  to  be  sensible.    Aren't  you?" 

There  was  no  reply,  only  the  stony  and  hostile  stare 
of  the  little  woman  facing  them  and  the  gray  image 
of  disgrace. 

"One,"  counted  Kamis  clearly.    "Two.  Three." 

He  counted  with  the  stolid  regularity  of  a  clock;  he 
made  as  though  to  overturn  the  glass  and  waste  its  con- 
tents in  the  dust  as  soon  as  he  should  have  reached  ten. 
"Ten,"  he  uttered,  but  held  it  safely  still.    "Well?" 

Mrs.  Jakes  did  not  move  for  some  moments.  Then 
she  sighed  and,  still  without  speaking,  moved  away  from 
the  slumbering  doctor.  She  walked  a  dozen  paces  from 
the  road  and  stood  with  her  back  to  them. 

With  quick  skilful  movements,  Kamis  lifted  the  un- 
conscious man's  head  to  the  crook  of  his  arm  and  the 

149 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

rim  of  the  glass  clicked  on  his  teeth.  Margaret  walked 
after  Mrs.  Jakes. 

**Come,''  she  said  gently.  ''I  don't  misunderstand. 
You  trusted  me  or  you  would  n  't  have  waked  me.  Ev- 
erything will  be  all  right  soon  and  then  you  '11  forgive 
me." 

*'I  won't — ^never.'* 

Mrs.  Jakes  would  not  face  her.  She  stood  looking 
into  the  blackness,  tense  with  enmity. 

**Well,  I  hope  you  will,"  said  Margaret. 

They  heard  grunts  from  the  doctor  and  then  quaver- 
ing speech  and  one  rich  oath,  and  a  noise  of  spitting. 
The  Kafir  approached  them  noiselessly  from  behind 
and  paused  at  Margaret's  side. 

**That  's  done  the  trick,"  he  said;  **and  he  doesn't 
even  know  who  gave  him  the  draft.  You  '11  go  in 
now?" 

**Yes,"  said  Margaret.  **You  have  been  good, 
though. ' ' 

Mrs.  Jakes  had  returned  to  her  husband;  they  were 
for  the  moment  alone. 

**I  didn't  mean  to  force  your  hand,"  he  whispered. 
*'But  I  had  to.     A  doctor  has  duties." 

She  gave  him  her  hand.  *' There  was  something  I 
wanted  to  tell  you,  but  there  's  no  time  to  explain  now. 
Did  you  know  you  were  wanted  by  the  police?" 

*^ Bless  you,  yes."  He  smiled  with  a  white  flash  of 
teeth.  ''"Were  you  going  to  warn  me?  How  kind! 
And  now,  in  you  go,  and  good  night." 

Dr.  Jakes  was  sitting  up,  spitting  with  vigor  and 
astonishment.  He  had  taken  a  heroic  dose  of  hair-rais- 
ing restoratives  on  the  head  of  a  poisonous  amount  of 

150 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

whisky,  and  his  palate  was  a  moldering  ruin.    But  the 
clearness  of  his  faculties  left  nothing  to  be  desired. 

''Who  's  thatr'  he  demanded  at  sight  of  Margaret. 
''Miss  Harding.  How  do  you  come  to  be  out  here  at 
this  timer' 

"You  should  time  your  fits  more  decently,  doctor," 
answered  Margaret  coolly. 

Mrs.  Jakes  hastened  to  explain  more  acceptably.  "I 
was  frightened,  Eustace.  You  looked  so  bad — and  these 
fits  are  terrible.  So  I  asked  Miss  Harding  if  she 
wouldn't  come  and  help  me." 

"A  patient,"  said  the  doctor.  He  turned  over  and 
rose  stiffly  to  his  feet,  dust-stained  all  over.  He  stood 
before  her  awkwardly. 

"I  am  unfortunate,"  he  said.  "You  are  in  my  care 
and  this  is  what  happens.  It  is  my  misfortune — and 
my  fault.  You  '11  go  back  to  bed  now.  Miss  Harding, 
please. ' ' 

"Sure  there's  nothing  more  you  want?"  inquired 
Margaret. 

"At  once,  please,"  he  repeated.  "In  the  morning — 
but  go  at  once  now." 

On  the  stoep  she  paused  to  listen  to  them  following 
after  her  and  heard  a  portion  of  Mrs.  Jakes'  excuses  to 
her  husband. 

"You  looked  so  dreadful,  Eustace,  and  I  was  fright- 
ened. And  then,  you  're  so  heavy,  and  I  suppose  I  was 
tired,  and  to-night  I  couldn't  quite  manage  by  myself, 
dear." 

Margaret  passed  in  at  the  door  in  order  to  cough  un- 
heard, that  nothing  might  be  added  to  the  tale  of  Mrs. 
Jakes'  delinquencies. 

151 


CHAPTER  IX 

*    4    ND  what  have  we  here  ?  * '  said  the  stranger  loudly. 
r\    ''What  have  we  here,  now?'' 

Paul,  sitting  cross-legged  in  his  old  place  under  the 
wall  of  the  dam,  with  a  piece  of  clay  between  his  fingers, 
looked  round  with  a  start.  The  stranger  had  come  up 
behind  him,  treading  unheard  in  his  burst  and  broken 
shoes  upon  the  soft  dust,  and  now  stood  leaning  upon 
a  stick  and  smiling  down  upon  him  with  a  kind  of  des- 
perate jauntiness.  His  attitude  and  manner,  with  their 
parody  of  urbane  ease,  had  for  the  moment  power  to 
hide  the  miserable  shabbiness  of  his  clothes,  which  were 
not  so  much  broken  and  worn  as  decayed ;  it  was  decay 
rather  than  hardship  which  marked  the  whole  figure  of 
the  man.  Only  the  face,  clean-shaven  save  for  a  new 
crop  of  bristles,  had  some  quality  of  mobility  and  tem- 
per, and  the  eyes  with  which  he  looked  at  Paul  were 
wary  and  hard. 

'*0h,  nothing,''  said  Paul,  uneasily,  covering  his  clay 
with  one  hand.    **Who  are  you?" 

The  stranger  eyed  him  for  some  moments  longer  with 
the  shrewdness  of  one  accustomed  to  read  his  fortune 
in  other  men's  faces,  and  while  he  did  so  the  smile 
remained  fixed  on  his  own  as  though  he  had  forgotten 
to  take  it  off. 

*'Who  am  I!"  he  exclaimed.  *'My  boy,  it  'd  take  a 
long  time  to  tell  you.  But  there  's  one  thing  that  per- 
haps you  can  see  for  yourself — I  'm  a  gentleman. ' ' 

152 


FLOWER  0^  THE  PEACH 

Paul  considered  this  information  deliberately. 

*^Are  jonV  he  said. 

**I  'm  dusty,"  admitted  the  other;  ''dusty  both  in- 
side and  out.  And  I  'm  travelin'  on  foot — without 
luggage.  So  much  I  admit;  I  Ve  met  with  misfor- 
tunes. But  there  's  one  thing  the  devil  himself  can't 
take  away  from  me,  and  that  's  the  grand  old  name  of 
gentleman.  An'  now,  my  lad,  to  business;  you  live  at 
that  farm  there  ? ' ' 

*'Yes,"  replied  Paul.  This  tramp  had  points  at 
which  he  differed  from  other  tramps,  and  Paul  stared  at 
him  thoughtfully. 

**So  far,  so  good,''  said  the  stranger.  ** Question 
number  two:  does  it  run  to  a  meal  for  a  gentleman 
on  his  travels,  an'  a  bed  of  sorts?  Answer  me  that. 
I  don't  mean  a  meal  with  a  shilling  to  pay  at  the  end 
of  it,  because — to  give  it  you  straight — I  'm  out  of 
shillings  for  the  present.    Now,  speak  up." 

*'If  you  go  up  there,  they  '11  give  you  something  to 
eat,  and  you  can  sleep  somewhere,"  said  Paul,  a  little 
puzzled  by  the  unusual  rhetoric. 

The  stranger  nodded  approvingly.  '*It  's  all  right, 
then?"  he  said.  **Good — go  up  one.  But  say!  Ain't 
you  going  there  yourself  pretty  soon  ? ' ' 

** Presently,"  said  Paul. 

*  *  Then,  if  it  's  all  the  same  to  you, ' '  said  the  stranrer, 
'*I  '11  wait  and  go  up  with  you.  Nothing  like  being 
introduced  by  a  member, ' '  he  added,  as  he  lowered  him- 
self stiffly  to  a  seat  among  the  rank  grass  under  the 
wall.     ** Gives  a  feller  standing,  don't  it?" 

He  took  off  his  limp  hat  and  let  himself  fall  back 
against  the  slope  of  the  wall,  grunting  with  appreciation 
of  the  relief  after  a  day's   tramp  in  the  sun.    His 

153 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

rather  full  body  and  thin  legs,  ending  in  a  pair  of 
ruinous  shoes  that  let  his  toes  be  seen,  lay  along  the 
grass  like  an  obscene  corpse,  and  above  them  his  feeble, 
sophisticated  face  leered  at  Paul  as  though  to  invite 
him  to  become  its  confidant. 

^'You  go  on  with  what  you  're  doing,"  urged  the 
stranger.  ** Don't  let  me  hinder  you.  Makin'  marbles, 
were  you — or  what?" 

*'No,"  said  Paul.  He  hesitated,  for  an  idea  had 
come  to  him  while  he  watched  the  stranger.  **But — 
but  if  you  '11  do  something  for  me,  I  11  give  you  a 
shilling." 

**Eh?"  The  other  rolled  a  dull  eye  on  him.  *at 
isn't  murder,  is  it?  I  should  want  one-and-six  for 
that.     I  never  take  less." 

Paul  flushed.  **I  don't  know  what  you  mean,"  he 
said.  **I  only  want  you  to  keep  still  like  that  while 
I — ^while  I  make  a  model  of  you.  You  said  you  had  n  't 
got  any  shillings  just  now." 

**Did  I  say  that?"  inquired  the  stranger.  '*Well, 
well !  However,  chuck  us  over  your  shilling  and  I  '11 
see  what  I  can  do  for  you." 

He  made  a  show  of  biting  the  coin  and  subjecting 
it  to  other  tests  of  its  goodness  while  the  boy  looked  on 
anxiously.  Paul  was  relieved  when  at  last  he  pocketed 
it  and  lay  back  again. 

**I  '11  get  rid  of  it  somehow,"  he  said.  **It  's  very 
well  made.  And  now,  am  I  to  look  pleasant,  or 
what?" 

** Don't  look  at  all,"  directed  Paul.  .  *'Just  be  like 
— ^like  you  are.    You  can  go  to  sleep  if  you  like. ' ' 

**I  never  sleep  on  an  empty  stomach,"  replied  the 
stranger,  arranging  himself  in  an  attitude  of  comfort. 

154 


FLOWER  0^  THE  PEACH 

**Is  this  all  right  for  you?    Fire   away,   then,   Mike 
Angelo.     Can  I  talk  while  you  're  at  it  ? " 

'*If  you  want  to,''  answered  Paul.  The  clay  which 
he  had  been  shaping  was  another  head,  and  now  he 
kneaded  it  out  of  shape  between  his  hands  and  rounded 
it  rudely  for  a  sketch  of  the  face  before  him.  The 
Kafir,  Kamis,  had  bidden  him  refrain  from  his  attempts 
to  do  mass  and  detail  at  once,  to  form  the  features  and 
the  expression  together;  but  Paul  knew  he  had  little 
time  before  him  and  meant  to  make  the  most  of  it. 
The  tramp  had  his  hands  joined  behind  his  head  and 
his  eyes  half-closed;  he  offered  to  the  boy  the  spectacle 
of  a  man  beaten  to  the  very  ground  and  content  to  take 
his  ease  there. 

**D'you  do  much  of  this  kind  of  thing?''  asked  the 
tramp,  when  some  silent  minutes  had  passed. 
**Yes,"  said  Paul,  **a  lot." 

** Nothing  like  it,  is  there?"  asked  the  other.  He 
spoke  lazily,  absorbed  in  his  comfort.  **We  've  all  got 
our  game,  every  bally  one  of  us.     Mine  was  actin '. ' ' 

** Acting?"  Paul  paused  in  his  busy  fingering  to 
look  up.     **Were  you  an  actor?" 

The  actors  he  knew  looked  out  of  frames  in  his 
mother's  little  parlor,  intense,  well-fed,  with  an  in- 
human brilliance  of  attire. 

**Even  me,"  replied  the  tramp  equably.  He  did  nrt 
move  from  his  posture  nor  uncover  his  drowsy  eyes; 
the  swollen  lids,  in  which  the  veins  stood  out  in  purple, 
did  not  move,  but  his  voice  took  a  rounder  and  more 
conscious  tone  as  he  went  on:  ''And  there  iixis  a  time, 
niy  boy,  when  actin'  meant  me  and  I  meant  actin'. 
In  '87,  I  was  playing  in  'The  Demon  Doctor,'  and 
drawing  my  seven  quid  a  week — ^you  believe  me.    Talk 

155 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

of  art — why !  I  've  had  letters  from  Irving  that  *d 
make  you  open  your  eyes." 

**I  Ve  heard  about  Irving,'^  said  Paul,  glancing  back 
and  fore  from  his  clay  to  the  curiously  pouched  mouth 
of  his  recumbent  model. 

** Fancy/'  exclaimed  the  tramp  softly.  *'But  it  was 
a  great  game,  a  great  game.  Sometimes,  even  now,  I 
sort  of  miss  it.  And  the  funny  thing  is — it  is  n  't  the 
grub  and  the  girls  and  the  cash  in  my  breeches  pocket 
that  I  miss  so  much.  It  's  the  bally  work.  It  's  the 
work,  my  boy.''  He  seemed  to  wonder  torpidly  at 
himself,  and  for  some  seconds  he  continued  to  repeat, 
as  though  in  amazement:  **It  's  the  work."  He  went 
on:  ''Seems  as  if  once  an  actor,  always  an  actor, 
don't  it?  A  feller  's  got  talent  in  him  and  he  's  got 
to  empty  it  out,  or  ache.  Some  sing,  some  write,  some 
paint;  you  prod  clay  about;  but  I  'm  an  actor.  Time 
was,  I  could  act  a  gas  meter,  if  it  was  the  part,  and 
that  's  my  trouble  to  this  day." 

He  ceased;  he  had  delivered  himself  without  once 
looking  up  or  reflecting  the  matter  of  his  speech  by 
a  change  of  expression.  For  all  the  part  his  body  or 
his  features  had  in  his  words,  it  might  have  been  a  dead 
man  speaking.  Paul  worked  on  steadily,  giving  small 
thought  to  anything  but  the  shape  that  came  into  being 
under  his  hands.  His  standard  of  experience  was 
slight;  he  knew  too  little  of  men  and  their  vicissitudes 
to  picture  to  himself  the  processes  by  which  the  face 
he  strove  to  reproduce  sketchily  could  have  been  shaped 
to  its  cast  of  sorrowful  pretense;  he  only  felt,  cloudily 
and  without  knowledge,  that  it  signaled  a  strange  and 
unlovely  fate. 

His  knack  served  him  well  on  that  evening,  and  be- 
156 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

sides,  there  was  not  an  elusive  remembrance  of  form 
to  be  courted,  but  the  living  original  before  him.  The 
tramp  seemed  to  sleep;  and  swiftly,  with  merciless  as- 
surance, the  salient  thing  about  him  came  into  existence 
between  Paul's  hands.  Long  before  the  light  failed  or 
the  gourd-drum  at  the  farmhouse  door  commenced  its 
rhythmic  call,  the  thing  was  done — a  mere  sketch,  with 
the  thumb-prints  not  even  smoothed  away,  but  stamped 
none  the  less  with  the  pitiless  print  of  life. 

''Done  it?"  inquired  the  tramp,  rousing  as  Paul  un- 
crossed his  legs  and  prepared  to  put  the  clay  away. 
''Let  'shave  a  look?" 

"It  wants  to  be  made  smooth,"  explained  Paul,  as  he 
passed  it  to  him.  "And  it 's  soft,  of  course,  so  don't 
squeeze  it." 

"I  won't  squeeze  it,"  the  tramp  assured  him  and 
took  it.  He  gazed  at  it  doubtfully,  letting  it  lie  on 
his  knee.     "Oho!"  he  said. 

"It's  only  a  quick  thing,"  said  Paul.  "There 
was  n  't  time  to  do  it  properly. ' ' 

"Wasn't  there?"  said  the  tramp,  without  looking  up. 
"It  's  like  me,  is  it?  Damn  you,  why  don't  you  say 
it  and  have  done  with  it?" 

"Why,"  cried  Paul  bewildered,  and  coloring  furi- 
ously. "What's  the  matter?  It  is  like  you.  I  mod- 
eled it  from  you  just  now  as  you  were  lying  there. ' ' 

"An'  paid  me  a  shilling  for  it."  The  tramp  thrust 
an  impetuous  hand  into  his  pocket;  possibly  he  was 
inspired  to  draw  forth  the  coin  and  fling  it  in  Paul's 
face.  If  so,  he  decided  against  it ;  he  looked  at  the  coin 
wryly  and  returned  it  to  its  place. 

"Well,"  he  said  finally;  "you've  got  me  nicely. 
The  cue  is  to  shy  you  and  your  bally  model  into  the 

157 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

dam  together — an'  what  about  my  supper?  Eh?  Yes, 
you  Ve  got  me  sweetly.  Here,  take  the  thing,  or  I 
might  make  up  my  mind  to  go  hungry  for  the  pleasure 
of  squashing  it  flat  on  your  ugly  mug/' 

**You  don't  like  it?"  asked  Paul,  as  he  received  the 
clay  again  from  the  tramp 's  hands.  He  did  not  under- 
stand; for  all  he  knew,  there  were  men  who  surprised 
their  mothers  by  being  born  with  that  strange  stamp 
upon  them. 

The  tramp  gave  him  a  slow  wrathful  look.  **The 
joke  's  on  me,"  he  answered.  ^'7  know.  I  look  a 
drunk  who  's  been  out  all  night;  I  'm  not  denying  it. 
I  've  got  a  face  that  '11  get  me  blackballed  for  admission 
to  hell.  I  know  all  that  and  you  've  made  a  picture 
of  it.     But  don't  rub  it  in." 

Paul  looked  at  the  clay  again,  and  although  the  man 's 
offense  was  dawning  on  his  understanding,  he  smiled  at 
the  sight  of  a  strong  thing  strongly  done. 

**I  didn't  mean  any  joke,"  he  protested. 

**Let  's  call  it  a  joke,"  said  the  tramp.  **Once  when 
I  was  nearly  dying  of  thirst  up  beyond  Kimberly,  a 
feller  that  I  asked  for  water  gave  me  a  cup  of  paraffin. 
That  was  another  joke.  Tramps  are  fair  game  for  you 
jokers,  aren't  they?  Well,  if  that  meal  you  spoke 
about  wasn't  a  joke,  too,  let's  be  getting  up  to  the 
house. ' ' 

**A11  right,"  said  Paul.  He  hesitated  a  minute,  for 
he  hated  to  part  with  the  thing  he  had  made.  '*0h, 
it  can  go,"  he  exclaimed,  and  threw  the  clay  up  over 
the  wall.  It  fell  into  the  dam  above  their  heads  with 
a  splash. 

'*I  didn't  mean  any  joke,  truly,"  he  assured  the 
tramp. 

158 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

''Don't  rub  it  in,"  begged  the  other.  ''We  don't 
want  to  make  a  song  about  it.  And  anyhow,  I  want  to 
try  to  forget  it.     So  come  on — do. ' ' 

They  came  together  through  the  kraals  and  across  the 
deserted  yard  to  the  house-door,  the  tramp  looking  about 
him  at  the  apparatus  of  well-fed  and  well-roofed  life 
with  an  expression  of  genial  approval.  Paul  would  have 
taken  him  round  to  the  back-door,  but  he  halted. 

"Not  bad,"  he  commented.  "Not  bad  at  all,  con- 
sidering.    An'  this  is  the  way  in,  I  suppose." 

"We  'd  better  go  round,"  suggested  Paul,  but  the 
tramp  turned  on  the  doorstep  and  waved  a  nonchalant 
hand. 

"Oh,  this  '11  do,"  he  said,  and  there  was  nothing  for 
Paul  to  do  but  to  follow  him  into  the  little  passage. 

The  door  of  the  parlor  stood  open,  and  within  was 
Mrs.  du  Preez,  flicking  a  duster  at  the  furniture  in  a 
desultory  fashion.  The  tramp  paused  and  looked  at  her 
appraisingly. 

' '  The  lady  of  the  house,  no  doubt, ' '  he  surmised,  with 
his  terrible  showy  smile,  before  she  could  speak.  "It  's 
the  boy,  madam;  he  wouldn't  take  no  for  an  answer. 
I  had  to  come  home  to  supper  with  him." 

His  greedy  quick  eyes  were  busy  about  the  little  room ; 
they  seemed  to  read  a  price-ticket  on  each  item  of  its 
poor  pretentious  furniture  and  assess  the  littleness  of 
those  signed  and  framed  photographs  which  inhabited 
it  like  a  company  of  ghosts. 

"Why,"  he  cried  suddenly,  and  turned  from  his  in- 
spection of  these  last  to  stare  again  at  Mrs.  du  Preez. 

His  plausible  fluency  had  availed  for  the  moment  to 
hide  the  quality  of  his  clothes  and  person,  but  now  Mrs. 
du  Preez  had  had  time  to  perceive  the  defects  of  both. 

159 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

**What  d'you  mean?"  she  demanded.  ''How  d  'yon 
get  in  here  ?     Who  are  you  ? ' ' 

The  tramp  was  still  staring  at  her.  *'It  's  on  the  tip 
of  my  tongue,"  he  said.  ''Give  me  a  moment. 
AVhy" — ^with  a  joyous  vociferation — "who  'd  ha' 
thought  it?  It  's  little  Sinclair,  as  I  'm  a  sinnair — 
little  Vivie  Sinclair  of  the  old  brigade,  stap  my  vitals  if 
it  ain't." 

"What?" 

The  man  filled  the  narrow  door,  and  Paul  had  to 
stoop  under  his  elbow  to  see  his  mother.  She  was  lean- 
ing with  both  hands  on  the  table,  searching  his  face  with 
eyes  grown  lively  and  apprehensive  in  a  moment.  The 
old  name  of  her  stage  days  had  power  to  make  this 
change  in  her. 

"Who  is  it?"  she  asked. 

"Think,"  begged  the  tramp.  "Try!  No  use? 
Well — "  he  swept  her  a  spacious  bow,  battered  hat 
to  heart,  foot  thrown  back — "look  on  this  picture" — 
he  tapped  his  bosom — "and  on  that."  His  big 
creased  forefinger  flung  out  towards  the  photograph 
which  had  the  place  of  honor  on  the  crowded  mantel- 
shelf and  dragged  her  gaze  with  it. 

"It  's  not — "  Mrs.  du  Preez  glanced  rapidly  back  and 
forth  between  the  living  original  and  the  glazed,  im- 
maculate counterfeit^ — "it  isn't — it  can't  be — Bailey  f 

"It  is;  it  can,"  replied  the  tramp  categorically,  and 
Boy  Bailey,  in  the  too,  too  solid  flesh  advanced  into  the 
room. 

Mrs.  du  Preez  had  a  moment  of  motionless  amaze,  and 
then  with  a  flushed  face  came  in  a  rush  around  the 
table  to  meet  him.  They  clasped  hands  and  both 
laughed. 

160 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

''Why/'  cried  Mrs.  du  Preez;  *'if  this  don't— but 
Bailey!  Where  ever  do  you  come  from,  an'  like  this? 
Glad  to  see  you  ?  Yes,  I  am  glad ;  you  're  the  first 
of  the  old  crowd  that  I  've  seen  since  I — I  married. ' ' 

** Married,  eh?"  The  tramp  tempered  an  over-gal- 
lant and  enterprising  attitude.  ''Then  I  mustn't — 
eh?" 

His  face  was  bent  towards  hers  and  he  still  held  her 
hands. 

''No;  you  mustn't,"  spoke  Paul  unexpectedly,  from 
the  doorway,  where  he  was  an  absorbed  witness  of  the 
scene. 

They  both  turned  sharply;  they  had  forgotten  the 
boy. 

''Don't  be  silly,  Paul,"  said  his  mother,  rather 
sharply.  "Mr.  Bailey  was  only  joking."  But  she 
freed  her  hands  none  the  less,  while  Mr.  Bailey  bent  his 
wary  gaze  upon  the  boy. 

The  interruption  served  to  bring  the  conversation 
down  to  a  less  emotional  plane,  and  Paul  sat  down  on 
a  chair  just  within  the  door  to  watch  the  unawaited 
results  of  promising  a  meal  to  a  chance  tramp.  The 
effect  on  his  mother  was  not  the  least  remarkable  con- 
sequence. The  veld  threw  up  a  lamentable  man  at  your 
feet;  in  charity  and  some  bewilderment  you  took  him 
home  to  feed  him,  and  thereupon  your  mother,  your 
weary,  petulant,  uncertain  mother,  took  him  to  her  arms 
and  became,  by  that  unsavory  contact,  pink  and  viva- 
cious. 

"There  's  more  of  you,"  said  Mrs.  du  Preez,  making 
a  fresh  examination  of  her  visitor.  "You  're  fatter 
than  what  you  were,  Bailey,  in  those  old  days." 

Boy  Bailey  nodded  carelessly.  "Yes,  my  figure  's 
11  1« 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

gone  too,"  he  agreed;  ''gone  with  all  the  rest. 
Friends,  position,  reputation — all  but  my  spirits  and  my 
talents.  I  know.  Ah,  but  those  were  good  times, 
weren't  they?" 

''Too  good  to  last,"  sighed  Mrs.  du  Preez. 

"They  didn't  last  for  me,"  said  Boy  Bailey. 
"When  we  broke  down  at  Fereira — ^lemme  see!  That 
must  be  nearly  twenty  years  ago,  ain't  it? — I  took  my 
leave  of  Fortune.  Never  another  glance  did  I  get 
from  her;  not  one  bally  squint.  I  did  advance  agent 
for  a  fortune-teller  for  a  bit;  I  even  came  down  to 
clerking  in  a  store.  I  've  been  most  things  a  man  can 
be  in  this  country,  except  rich.  And  why  is  it? 
What  's  stood  in  my  way  all  along?  What  's  been  my 
handicap  that  holds  me  back  and  nobbles  me  every  time 
I  face  the  starter?" 

"Ah!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  du  Preez  sympathetically. 

"I  don't  need  to  tell  you,"  continued  Boy  Bailey, 
"you  not  being  one  of  the  herd,  that  it  's  temperament 
that  has  me  all  the  time.  I  don't  boast  of  it,  but  you 
know  how  it  is.  You  remember  me  when  I  had  scope; 
you  've  seen  me  at  the  game;  you  can  judge  for  your- 
self. A  man  with  temperament  in  this  country  has  got 
as  much  chance  as  a  snowflake  in  hell.  Perhaps, 
though,  you  've  found  that  out  for  yourself  before  now. ' ' 

"Don't  I  know  it,"  retorted  Mrs.  du  Preez.  "Bailey, 
if  you  '11  believe  me,  I  have  n't  heard  that  word  'temper- 
ament,' since  I  saw  you  last.  Talk  of  scope — why  you 
can  go  to  the  winder  there  and  see  with  your  eyes  all 
the  scope  I  've  had  since  I  married.  It  's  been  tough, 
Bailey;  it  's  been  downright  tough." 

"Still — "  began  Mr.  Bailey,  but  paused.  "We  must 
ha-ve  another  talk,"  he  substituted.    "There  's  a  lot  to 

162 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

hear  and  to  tell.  Do  you  think  you  could  manage  to 
put  me  up  for  a  day  or  two?  I  suppose  your  husband 
wouldn't  mind?'* 

*'Why  should  he?"  demanded  Mrs.  du  Preez. 
**You  're  the  first  in  all  these  years.  Still,  it  wouldn't 
be  a  bad  idea  if  you  was  to  have  a  change  of  clothes 
before  he  sees  you,  Bailey.  It  isn't  me  that  minds, 
you  know ;  so  far  as  that  goes,  you  'd  be  welcome  in  any- 
thing; but — " 

Boy  Bailey  waved  her  excuses  away.  '*I  under- 
stand," he  said.  **I  understand.  It 's  these  preju- 
dices— have  your  own  way." 

The  resources  of  Christian  du  Preez 's  wardrobe  were 
narrow,  and  Christian's  wife  was  further  hampered  in 
the  selection  of  clothes  for  her  guest  by  a  doubt 
whether,  if  she  selected  too  generously,  Christian  might 
not  insist  on  the  guest  stripping  as  soon  as  he  set 
eyes  on  him.  Her  discretion  revealed  itself,  when  Mr. 
Bailey  was  dressed,  in  a  certain  sketchiness  of  his  total 
effect,  an  indeterminate  quality  that  was  not  lessened 
by  the  fact  that  all  of  the  garments  were  too  narrow 
and  too  long;  and  though  no  alteration  of  his  original 
appearance  could  fail  to  improve  it,  there  was  no  hid- 
ing his  general  character  of  slow  decay. 

**It  's  hardly  a  disguise,"  commented  Boy  Bailey,  as 
he  surveyed  himself  when  the  change  was  made.  *' Dis- 
guise is  n  't  the  word  that  covers  it,  and  I  'm  hanged  if 
I  know  what  word  does.     But  these  pants  are  chronic." 

''You  can  roll  'em  up  another  couple  of  inches,"  sug- 
gested Mrs.  du  Preez. 

''It  isn't  that,"  complained  Mr.  Bailey.  ''If  they 
want  to  cover  my  feet,  they  can.  But  I  'd  need  a 
waist  like  a  wasp  before  the  three  top  buttons  would 

163 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

see  reason.  Damme,  I  feel  as  if  I  was  going  to  break 
in  halves.  What  's  that  dear  boy  of  yours  grinning 
at?'' 

*'I  wasn't  grinning,"  protested  Paul.  **I  was  only 
going  to  say  that  father  's  coming  in  now. ' ' 

The  tramp  and  his  mother  exchanged  a  glance  of 
which  the  meaning  was  hidden  from  him,  the  look  of 
allies  preparing  for  a  crucial  moment.  Already  they 
were  leagued  to  defeat  the  husband. 

Christian  du  Preez  came  with  heavy  footsteps  along 
the  passage  from  the  outer  door,  saw  that  there  was  a 
stranger  in  the  parlor  and  paused. 

''Christian,"  said  Mrs.  du  Preez,  with  a  false 
sprightliness.  ''Come  in;  here's  a — an  old  friend  of 
mine  come  to  see  us." 

"An  old  friend?" 

The  Boer  stared  at  the  stranger  standing  with 
straddled  legs  before  the  fireplace,  and  recognized  him 
forthwith.  Without  speaking,  he  made  a  quick  com- 
parison of  the  bold  photograph,  whose  fleshy  perfection 
had  so  often  invited  him  to  take  stock  of  his  own  im- 
perfections, and  then  met  the  living  Boy  Bailey's  rigid 
smile  with  a  smile  of  his  own  that  had  the  effect  of 
tempering  the  other's  humor. 

"I  see,"  said  the  Boer.  "What's  the  name?" 
He  came  forward  and  read  from  the  photograph  where 
the  bold  showy  signature  sprawled  across  a  corner. 
"  'Yours  blithely,  Boy  Bailey,'  "  he  read.  "And  you 
are  Boy  Bailey  ? ' ' 

"You  've  got  it,"  replied  the  photograph's  original. 
"Older,  my  dear  sir,  and  it  may  be  meatier;  but  the 
same  man  in  the  main,  and  happy  to  make  the  ac- 
quaintance of  an  old  friend's  husband." 

164 


FLOWER  0^  THE  PEACH 

His  impudence  cost  him  an  effort  in  face  of  the  Boer's 
stare  of  contemptuous  amusement,  a  stare  which  com- 
prehended, item  by  item,  each  article  of  his  grotesque 
attire  and  came  to  rest,  without  diminishing  its  in- 
tensity, upon  the  specious,  unstable  countenance. 

^'Allemachtag/'  was  the  Boer's  only  reply,  as  he 
completed  his  survey. 

**I  don't  think  you  saw  Bailey,  that  time  we  were 
married.  Christian,"  said  Mrs.  du  Preez.  **But  he 
was  a  dear  old  friend  of  mine." 

Christian  nodded.  '^You  walked  here?"  he  in- 
quired of  the  guest.  On  the  Karoo,  the  decent  man 
does  not  travel  afoot,  and  none  of  the  three  others  who 
were  present  missed  the  implication  of  the  inquiry. 
Mrs.  du  Preez  colored  hotly;  Boy  Bailey  introduced  his 
celebrated  wave  of  the  hand. 

**I  see  you  know  what  walking  means,"  he  replied. 
**It  ain't  a  human  occupation — ^is  it  now?  What  I  say 
is — if  man  had  been  meant  for  a  voet ganger  (a 
walker) " — ^he  watched  the  effect  of  the  Dutch  word  on 
the  Boer — **he  'd  have  been  made  with  four  feet.  Is  n't 
that  right?     You  bet  your  shirt  it  is." 

**My  shirt."  Christian  seemed  puzzled  for  the  mo- 
ment, though  the  phrase  was  one  which  his  wife  used. 
She  watched  him  uneasily.  '*0h,  I  see.  Yes,  you  can 
keep  that  shirt  you  've  got  on.     I  don 't  want  it. ' ' 

Boy  Bailey  made  him  a  bow.  **Ah,  thanks.  A  shirt 
more  or  less  don 't  matter,  does  it  ? " 

Christian  turned  to  Paul.     **You  brought  him  in?" 

**Yes,"  answered  Paul. 

**Well,  come  and  help  me  with  the  sacks.  Your 
mother  an'  her  friend  wants  to  talk,  an'  we  don't  want 
to  listen  to  them  talking." 

165 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

Boy  Bailey  watched  them  depart. 

''What  's  he  mean  by  that?"  he  asked  of  Mrs.  du 
Preez. 

''Never  mind  what  he  means,"  she  answered.  "He 
can't  have  his  own  way  in  everything.  Sit  down  an' 
tell  me  about  the  others  an'  what  happened  to  them 
after  I  left.  There  was  Kitty  Cassel — what  did  she 
do?     Go  home?" 

Boy  Bailey  pursed  his  lips.  "No,"  he  answered 
slowly.  "She  and  I  went  down  to  Capetown  together. 
She  didn't  come  to  any  good,  Kitty  didn't.  Ask  me 
about  some  one  else;  I  don't  want  to  offend  your  ears." 

But  Mrs.  du  Preez  was  in  error  in  one  particular: 
Christian  had  seen  Boy  Bailey  "that  time  we  were  mar- 
ried," and  remembered  him  very  clearly.  Those  were 
days  when  he,  too,  lived  vividly  and  the  petty  incidents 
and  personalities  of  the  moment  wrote  themselves  deep 
on  his  boyish  mind.  As  he  worked  at  the  empty  sacks, 
telling  them  over  by  the  stencils  upon  them,  while  Paul 
waded  among  them  to  his  knees  and  flung  them  towards 
him,  he  returned  in  the  spirit  to  those  poignant  years 
when  a  thin  girl  walking  across  a  little  makeshift  stage 
could  shake  him  to  his  foundations. 

He  remembered  the  little  town  to  which  the  com- 
mando had  returned  to  be  paid  off  and  disbanded,  a 
single  street  straggling  under  a  rampart  of  a  gray- 
green  mountain,  with  the  crude  beginnings  of  other 
streets  budding  from  it  on  either  side,  and  the  big 
brown,  native  location  like  a  tuberous  root  at  its  lower 
end.  Along  its  length,  beetle-browed  shops,  with 
shaded  stoeps  and  hitching-rails  for  horses,  showed  in- 
terior recesses  of  shade  and  gave  an  illusion  of  dignified 

166 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

prosperous  commerce,  and  at  the  edge  of  it  all  there  was 
a  string  of  still  pools,  linked  by  a  dribble  of  water, 
which  went  by  the  name  of  a  river  and  nurtured  along 
its  banks  gums  and  willows,  the  only  trees  of  greater 
stature  than  a  mimosa-bush  that  Christian  had  ever 
seen. 

It  was  a  small,  stagnant  veld  dorp,  in  fact,  one  of 
hundreds  that  are  littered  over  the  face  of  the  Colony, 
and  have  for  their  districts  a  more  than  metropolitan 
importance.  Christian  knew  it  as  a  focus  of  life,  the 
center  of  incomprehensible  issues  and  concerns  and  when 
his  corps  returned  to  it,  flavored  in  its  single  street 
the  pungencies  of  life  about  town.  The  little  war  in 
the  neighborhood  had  drawn  to  it  the  usual  riff-raff 
of  the  country  that  follows  on  the  heels  of  troops, 
wherever  armed  men  are  gathered  together,  predatory 
women  too  wise  in  their  generation,  a  sample  or  two 
of  the  nearly  extinct  species  of  professional  card- 
sharper,  a  host  of  the  sons  of  Lazarus  intent  upon 
crumbs  that  should  fall  from  the  pay-table,  and  a  fair 
collection  of  ordinary  thieves.  These  gave  the  single 
street  a  vivacity  beyond  anything  it  had  known,  and 
the  armed  burgher,  carrying  his  rifle  slung  on  his  back 
from  mere  habit,  would  be  greeted  by  the  name  of 
"Pief  and  invited  to  drink  once  for  every  ten  steps  he 
took  upon  it. 

Hither  came  Christian — twenty-two  years  of  ago,  six- 
foot  in  his  bare  soles  of  slender  thew  and  muscle,  not 
yet  bearded  and  hungry  with  many  appetites  after  a 
campaign  against  Kafirs.  The  restless  town  was  a  bait 
for  him. 

At  that  time,  there  was  much  in  him  of  that  solemn- 
eyed   quality   which   came   to   be    Paul's.     The   steely 

167 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

women  laughed  harshly  as  he  passed  them  by,  with  all 
the  sweetness  of  his  youth  in  his  still  face,  his  lips  parted, 
his  look  resting  on  them  and  beyond  them  to  the  virtues 
and  the  delicacy  they  had  thrown  off  to  walk  the  faster 
on  their  chosen  road.  His  ears  softened  their 
laughter,  his  eyes  redeemed  their  bitterness;  everything 
was  transfigured  for  him  by  the  dynamic  power  of  his 
mere  innocence  and  his  potent  belief  in  his  own  in- 
feriority to  the  splendor  of  all  that  offered  itself  to 
his  vision.  He  saw  his  comrades,  fine  shots  and  hard 
men  on  the  trek,  lapse  into  drunkenness  and  evil  com- 
munications, and  it  was  in  no  way  incompatible  with  his 
own  ascetic  cleanliness  of  apprehension  that  he  ex- 
cused them  on  the  grounds  of  the  hardships  they  had 
undergone.  He  could  idealize  even  a  sot  puking  in 
a  gutter. 

It  was  here  that  he  saw  a  stage-play  for  the  first 
time  in  his  life,  sitting  in  a  back-seat  in  the  town  hall 
among  young  shop-assistants  and  workmen,  not  a  little 
distracted  between  the  strange  things  upon  the  stage 
which  he  had  paid  to  witness  and  the  jocular  detach- 
ment from  them  by  the  young  men  about  him.  The 
play  at  first  was  incomprehensible;  the  chambermaid 
and  the  footman,  conversing  explanatorily,  with  which 
it  opened,  were  figures  he  was  unable  to  recognize,  and 
he  could  not  share  the  impression  that  seemed  to  pre- 
vail among  the  characters  in  general  that  the  fat,  whitish 
heroine  was  beautiful.  The  villain,  too,  was  murder- 
ous in  such  a  crude  fashion;  not  once  did  he  make  a 
clean  job  of  an  assassination.  Christian  felt  himself 
competent  to  criticize,  since  it  was  only  a  week  or  so 
since  he  had  pulled  a  trigger  and  risen  on  his  elbow 
to  see  his  man  halt  in  mid-stride  and  pitch  face  for- 

168 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

ward  to  the  earth.  He  was  confirmed  in  his  dissatis- 
faction by  the  demeanor  of  his  neighbors;  they,  men 
about  town,  broken  to  the  drama  and  its  surprises,  were 
certainly  not  taking  the  thing  seriously.  After  a  while, 
therefore,  he  made  no  effort  to  keep  sight  of  the  thread 
of  the  play;  he  sat  in  an  idle  content,  watching  the 
women  on  the  stage,  curious  to  discover  what  it  was  in 
each  one  of  them  that  was  wrong  and  vaguely  repel- 
lent. 

His  neighbors  had  no  doubts  about  it.  *' There  's  not 
a  leg  in  the  whole  caboodle, ' '  one  remarked.  ^  ^  It  's  all 
mouth  and  murder,  this  is." 

Christian  did  not  clearly  understand  the  first  phrase, 
but  the  second  was  plain  and  he  smiled  in  agreement. 
He  looked  up  to  take  stock  of  another  character,  a  girl 
who  made  her  entrance  at  that  moment,  and  ceased  to 
smile.  Her  share  in  the  scene  was  unimportant  enough, 
and  she  had  but  a  few  words  to  speak  and  nothing  to  do 
but  to  walk  forward  and  back  again.  She  was  thin 
and  girlish  and  carried  herself  well,  moving  with  a 
graceful  deliberation  and  speaking  in  an  appealing  little 
tinkle  to  which  the  room  lent  a  certain  ring  and  reso- 
nance; she  accosted  the  villain  who  replied  with  bru- 
tality; she  smiled  and  turned  from  him,  made  a  face 
and  passed  out  again.     And  that  was  all. 

The  young  man  who  had  deplored  the  absence  of  legs 
nudged  his  neighbor  to  look  at  the  tall  young  Boer  and 
made  a  joke  in  a  cautious  whisper.  His  precaution 
was  unnecessary;  he  might  have  shouted  and  Christian 
would  not  have  heard.  He  was  like  a  man  stunned  by 
a  great  revelation,  sitting  bolt  upright  and  staring  at 
the  stage  and  its  lighted  activity  with  eyes  dazzled  by 
a  discovery.    For  the  first  time  in  his  life  he  had  seen 

169 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

a  woman,  little  enough  to  break  like  a  stick  across  hia 
knee,  brave  and  gay  at  once,  delicate  and  tender, 
touching  him  with  the  sense  of  her  strength  and  courage 
while  her  femininity  made  all  the  male  in  him  surge 
into  power.  Gone  was  his  late  attitude  of  humorous 
judgment,  that  could  detach  the  actress  from  her  work 
and  assess  her  like  a  cow ;  the  smile,  the  little  contemptu- 
ous grimace  had  blown  it  all  away.  He  was  aghast,  inca- 
pable of  reducing  his  impression  to  thoughts.  For  a 
while,  it  did  not  occur  to  him  that  it  would  be  possible 
to  see  her  again.  When  it  did,  he  leaned  across  the 
two  playgoers  who  were  next  to  him  and  lifted  a  pro- 
gram from  the  lap  of  the  third,  who  gaped  at  him  but 
found  nothing  to  say. 

*'That  meisjie,  the  one  in  a  red  dress — is  her  name 
in  this?"  he  inquired  of  his  neighbor,  and  surprised 
him  into  assistance.  Together  they  found  it;  the  un- 
known was  Miss  Vivie  Sinclair. 

*' Skinny,  wasn't  she?"  commented  the  helpful 
neighbor  sociably. 

But  Christian  was  already  on  his  feet  and  making 
his  way  out,  and  the  conversational  one  got  nothing 
but  a  slow  glare  for  an  answer  across  intervening 
heads. 

And  yet  the  truth  of  it  was,  a  connoisseur  in  girls 
could  have  matched  Miss  Vivie  Sinclair  a  hundred 
times  over,  so  little  was  there  in  her  that  was  peculiar 
or  rare.  The  connoisseur  would  have  put  her  down 
without  hesitation  for  a  product  of  that  busy  manufac- 
tory which  melts  down  the  material  of  so  many  good 
housemaids  to  make  it  into  so  many  bad  actresses.  Her 
sex  and  a  grimace — ^these  were  the  total  of  her  assets, 
and  yet  she  was  as  good  a  peg  as  another  for  a  cloudy 

170 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

youth  to  drape  with  the  splendors  of  his  inexperienced 
fancy  and  glorify  with  the  hues  of  his  secret  longings. 
Probably  she  had  no  very  clear  idea  of  herself  in  those 
days ;  she  was  neither  happy  nor  sad,  as  a  general  thing ; 
and  her  aspirations  aimed  much  more  definitely  at 
the  symptoms  of  success — frocks,  bills  lettered  large 
with  her  name,  comely  young  men  in  hot  pursuit  of  her, 
gifts  of  jewelry — than  at  success  itself.  As  she  passed 
down  the  main  street  next  morning,  on  her  way  to 
the  telegraph  office  in  the  town  hall,  she  offered  to 
the  slow,  appraising  looks  from  the  stoeps  a  sketchy  im- 
pression of  a  rather  strained  modernity,  an  effect  of 
deftly  managed  skirts  and  unabashed  ankles  which  in 
themselves  were  sufficient  to  set  Fereira  thinking.  It 
was  as  she  emerged  from  the  telegraph  office  that  she 
came  face  to  face  with  Christian. 

**Well,  where  d'you  think  you  're  comin'  to?" 

This  was  her  greeting  as  he  pulled  up  all  standing  to 
avert  a  collision.  Clothes  to  fit  both  his  stature  and 
his  esthetic  sense  had  not  been  procurable,  and  he  had 
been  only  able  to  wash  himself  to  a  state  of  levitical 
cleanliness.  But  his  youthful  bigness  and  his  obvious 
reverence  of  her  served  his  purpose.  She  stood  looking 
at  him  with  a  smile. 

**I  saw  you,''  he  said,  *'in  the  play." 

' ' Did  you ?     What  d '  you  think  of  it ?' ' 

'^AllemacJitag/'  he  answered.  *'I  have  been  think- 
ing of  it  all  night." 

To  his  eye,  she  was  all  she  had  promised  to  be.  The 
fragility  of  her  was  most  wonderful  to  him,  accus- 
tomed to  the  honest  motherly  brawn  of  the  girls  of  his 
own  race.  The  rather  aggressive  perkiness  of  her  ad- 
dress was  the  smiling  courage  that  had  thrilled  and 

171 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

touched  him.     He  stood  staring,  unable  to  carry  the 
talk  further. 

But  it  was  for  this  kind  of  thing  that  Miss  Vivie 
Sinclair  had  **gone  on  the  stage,"  and  she  was  not  at 
all  at  a  loss. 

**I  'm  going  this  way,"  she  said,  and  in  her  hands, 
Christian  was  wax — willing  wax.  He  found  himself 
walking  at  her  side  under  the  eyes  of  the  town.  She 
waited  before  she  spoke  again  till  they  were  by  the 
stoep  of  Pagan's  store,  where  a  dozen  loungers  became 
rigid  and  watchful  as  they  passed. 

*'You  Ve  heard  about  the  smash-up?"  she  inquired 
then. 

*' Smash-up?" 

* '  Our  smash-up  ?  Oh,  a  regular  mess  we  're  in,  the 
whole  lot  of  us.     You  had  n  't  heard  ? ' ' 

**No,"  he  answered. 

*'Padden  's  cleared  out.  He  was  our  manager,  you 
know,  and  now  he  's  run  away  with  the  treasury  and 
left  us  high  and  dry.  Went  last  night,  it  seems,  after 
the  show." 

*'Left  you?"  repeated  Christian.  The  old  story  was 
a  new  one  to  him  and  he  did  not  understand.  Miss 
Sinclair  thought  him  dense,  but  proceeded  to  enlighten 
him  in  words  of  one  syllable,  as  it  were. 

*'That  's  why  I  was  telegraphing,"  she  concluded. 
"There  was  a  feller  in  Capetown  I  used  to  know;  I 
want  to  strike  him  for  my  fare  out  of  this." 

So  she  was  in  trouble;  there  was  a  call  upon  her 
courage,  an  attack  on  her  defenselessness.  Miss  Sin- 
clair, glancing  sidelong  at  his  face,  saw  it  redden  quickly 
and  was  confirmed  in  her  hope  that  the  **feller"  in 
Capetown  was  but  an  alternative  string  to  her  bow. 

172 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

*^That  telegram  took  all  I  'd  got  but  a  couple  of  shill- 
ings," she  added.  **Padden  had  been  keeping  us  short 
for  a  long  time." 

The  long  street  straggled  under  the  sun,  bare  to  its 
harsh  illumination,  a  wide  tract  of  parched  dust  hemmed 
between  walls  and  roofs  of  gray  corrugated  iron.  The 
one  thing  that  survived  that  merciless  ordeal  of  light 
without  loss  or  depreciation  was  the  girl.  They  halted 
at  the  door  of  the  one-storied  hotel  where  her  room 
was  and  here  again  the  shaded  stoep  was  full  of  ears 
and  eyes  and  Christian  had  to  struggle  with  words  to 
make  his  meaning  clear  to  her  and  keep  it  obscure  to 
every  one  else. 

*'It  '11  be  all  right,"  he  assured  her  stammeringly. 
**I  '11  see  that  it  's  all  right.  I  '11  come  here  an'  see 
you." 

**When?"  she  asked,  and  helped  him  with  a  sugges- 
tion.    ''This  evening?     There  '11  be  no  show  to-night." 

* '  This  evening, ' '  he  agreed. 

Miss  Sinclair  gave  him  her  best  smile,  all  the  better 
for  the  mirth  that  helped  it  out.  She  was  as  much 
amused  as  she  was  relieved.  As  she  passed  the  bar  on 
her  way  indoors,  she  winked  guardedly  to  a  florid  youth 
within  who  stood  in  an  attitude  of  listening. 

If  Christian  had  celebrated  the  occasion  with  liba- 
tions in  the  local  fashion,  if  he  had  talked  about  it 
and  put  his  achievement  to  the  test  of  words — if,  even, 
he  had  been  capable  of  thinking  about  it  in  any  clear 
and  sober  manner  instead  of  merely  relishing  it  with 
every  fiber  of  his  body — the  evening's  interview  might 
have  resolved  itself  into  an  act  of  charity,  involving 
the  sacrifice  of  nothing  more  than  a  few  sovereigns. 
As  it  was,  he  spent  the  day  in  germinating  hopes  and 

173 


FLOWER  0^  THE  PEACH 

educating  his  mind  to  entertain  them.  Under  the  stim- 
ulating heat  of  his  sanguine  youth,  they  burgeoned 
superbly. 

As  he  walked  away  from  the  hotel,  the  florid  youth 
spoke  confidentially  to  the  fat  shirt-sleeved  barman. 

''Hear  that?''  he  asked.  ''She  11  do  all  right,  she 
will.  That  's  where  a  girl  's  better  off  than  a  man. 
Who  's  the  feller,  d'you  know?" 

The  barman  heaved  himself  up  to  look  through  the 
window,  and  laughed  wheezily.  He  was  a  married  man 
and  adored  his  children,  but  it  was  his  business  to  be 
knowing  and  worldly. 

*'It  's  young  Du  Preez,"  he  answered,  as  Christian 
stalked  away.  **One  of  them  Boers,  y'know.  Got  a 
farm  out  on  the  Karoo." 

"Rich?"  queried  the  other. 

*'Not  bad,"  said  the  barman.  ''Most  of  those  Dutch 
could  buy  you  an'  me  an'  use  us  for  mantel  ornaments, 
if  they  had  the  good  taste. ' ' 

"So — ho,"  exclaimed  the  florid  youth.  "But  they 
don 't  carry  it  about  with  'em,  worse  luck. ' ' 

He  sighed  and  grew  thoughtful.  He  was  thoughtful 
at  intervals  for  the  rest  of  the  morning,  and  by  the 
afternoon  was  melancholy  and  uncertain  of  step.  But 
he  was  on  hand  and  watchful  when  Christian  arrived. 

Christian  was  vaguely  annoyed  when  a  young  man  of 
suave  countenance  and  an  expression  of  deep  solemnity 
thrust  up  to  him  at  the  hotel  door  and  stood  swaying  and 
swallowing  and  making  signs  as  though  to  command  his 
attention. 

"What  d'you  want?"  he  demanded. 

"Word  with  you,"  requested  the  other.  "Word 
with  you." 

174 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

He  was  sufficiently  unlike  anything  that  was  native 
to  Fereira  to  be  recognizable  as  an  actor  and  Christian 
suffered  himself  to  be  beckoned  into  the  bar. 

''Shall  I  do  it  or  you?''  asked  the  other.  '*I  shtood 
so  many  to-day,  sheems  to  me  it  's  your  turn.  Mine  's 
a  whisky.     Now,  'bout  this  li'l  girl  upshtairs." 

"Eh?"     Christian  was  startled. 

*'I  'm  man  of  the  world,"  the  other  went  on,  with  the 
seriousness  of  the  thoroughly  drunken.  ''Know  more 
'bout  the  world  then  ever  you  knew  in  yer  bally  life. 
An'  I  don't  blame  you — norra  bit.  Now  what  I  want 
shay  is  this:  I  can  fix  it  for  you  if  you  're  good  for 
a  fiver.  Jush  a  fiver — shave  trouble  and  time,  eh? 
Nice  li'l  girl,  too.     Worth  it." 

Christian  watched  him  lift  his  glass  and  drink.  He 
was  perplexed;  these  folk  seemed  to  have  a  language  of 
their  own  and  to  be  incomprehensible  to  ordinary  folk. 

"Worth  it?"  he  repeated.  "Fix  what?''  he  de- 
manded. 

"Nod  's  good  's  wink,"  answered  the  other.  "Don't 
want  to  shout  it.  Bend  your  long  ear  down  to  me — tell 
you." 

They  had  a  comer  by  the  bar  to  themselves.  Near 
the  window  the  barman  had  a  customer  after  his  own 
heart  and  was  repeating  to  him  an  oracular  saying  by 
his  youngest  daughter  but  two,  glancing  sideways  while 
he  spoke  to  see  if  Christian  and  the  other  were  listen- 
ing. 

Christian  bent,  and  the  hot  breath  of  the  other,  reek- 
ing of  the  day's  drinking,  beat  on  his  neck  and  the  side 
of  his  head.  The  hoarse  whisper,  with  its  infernal  sug- 
gestion, seemed  to  come  warm  from  a  pit  of  vilenesa 
within  the  man's  body. 

175 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

'*ls  that  plain  'nough?" 

Christian  stood  upright  again,  trembling  from  head 
to  foot  with  some  cold  emotion  far  transcending  any 
rage  he  had  ever  felt.  For  some  instant  he  could  not 
lift  his  hand;  he  had  seen  the  last  foul  depths  of  evil 
and  was  paralyzed.  The  other  lifted  his  glass  again. 
His  movement  released  the  Boer  from  the  spell. 

He  took  the  man  by  the  wrist  that  held  the  glass  with 
so  deadly  a  deliberation  that  the  barman  missed  his  hos- 
tile purpose  and  continued  to  talk,  leaning  with  his  fat, 
mottled  arms  folded  on  the  bar. 

''What  you  doin',  y'  fool?"  The  cry  was  from  the 
florid  youth. 

'*Ah !"  Christian  put  out  his  strength  with  a  maniac 
fury,  and  the  youth's  hand  and  the  glass  in  it  were 
dashed  back  into  that  person's  face.  No  hand  but  his 
own  struck  him,  and  the  countenance  Christian  saw  as 
a  blurred  white  disk  broke  under  the  blow  and  showed 
red  cracks.  He  struck  again  and  again;  the  barman 
shouted  and  men  came  running  in  from  outside.  Chris- 
tian dropped  the  wrist  he  held  and  turned  away.  Those 
in  the  doorway  gave  him  passage.  On  the  floor  in  the 
comer  the  florid  youth  bled  and  vomited. 

Christian  knew  him  later  as  a  bold  and  serene  face 
in  a  plush  photograph  frame,  signed  across  the  lower 
right  corner:    ''Yours  blithely,  Boy  Bailey." 

How  he  made  inquiries  for  the  girl's  room  and  came 
at  last  to  the  door  of  it  was  never  a  clear  memory  to 
him.  But  he  could  always  recall  that  small  austere  in- 
terior of  whitewash  and  heat-warped  furniture  to  which 
he  entered  at  her  call,  to  find  her  sitting  on  the  narrow 
bed.  He  came  to  her  bereft  of  the  few  faculties  she 
had  left  him,  grave,  almost  stern,  gripping  himself  by 

176 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

force  of  instinct  to  save  himself  from  the  outburst  of 
emotion  to  which  the  scene  in  the  bar  had  made  him 
prone.  Everything  tender  and  protective  in  his  nature 
was  awake  and  crying  out;  he  saw  her  as  the  victim  of 
a  sacrilegious  outrage,  threatened  by  unnamable  dan- 
gers. 

She  looked  at  him  under  the  lids  of  her  eyes,  quickly 
alive  to  the  change  in  him.  It  is  necessary  to  record 
that  she,  too,  had  made  inquiries  since  the  morning,  and 
learned  of  the  farm  that  stood  at  his  back  to  guarantee 
him  solid. 

**I  wondered  if  you  'd  come,**  she  said.  **That  feller 
in  Capetown  has  n  't  answered. '  * 

**I  said  I  *d  come,"  he  replied  gravely. 

**Yes,  I  know.  All  the  same,  I  thought — ^you  know, 
when  a  person  's  in  hard  luck,  nothing  goes  right,  an' 
a  girl,  when  she  's  in  a  mess,  is  anybody  *s  fool.  Is  n  't 
that  right  r* 

She  knew  her  peril  then;  she  lived  open-eyed  in  face 
of  it. 

*  *  You  shall  not  be  anybody  *s  fool,  *  *  he  answered.  '  *  If 
anybody  tries  to  be  bad  to  you,  I  11  kill  him." 

He  was  still  standing  just  within  the  closed  door,  no 
nearer  to  her  than  the  size  of  the  little  chamber  com- 
pelled. 

** Won't  you  sit  down?"  she  invited. 

*'Eh?"  His  contemplation  of  her  seemed  to  absorb 
him  and  make  him  absent-minded.  **No,"  he  replied, 
when  she  repeated  her  invitation. 

"As  you  like,"  she  conceded,  wondering  whether  after 
all  he  was  going  to  be  amenable  to  the  treatment  she  pro- 
posed for  him.  It  crossed  her  mind  that  he  was  think- 
ing of  getting  something  for  his  money  and  her  silly 
la  177 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

mouth  tightened.  If  her  sex  was  one  of  her  assets,  her 
virtue — the  fanatic  virtue  which  is  a  matter  of  prejudice 
rather  than  of  principle, — ^was  one  of  her  liabilities. 
She  had  nothing  to  sell  him. 

**You  know,''  she  said,  **the  worst  of  it  is,  none  of  us 
haven't  had  any  salary  for  weeks.  That 's  what  puts 
us  in  the  cart.  We  're  all  broke.  If  Padden  had  let 
us  have  a  bit,  we  wouldn't  be  stranded  like  this.  And 
the  queer  thing  is,  Gus  Padden  's  the  last  man  you  'd 
have  picked  for  a  wrong  'un.  Fat,  you  know,  and  beam- 
ing ;  a  sort  of  fatherly  way,  he  had.  He  used  to  remind 
me  of  Santa  Claus.  An'  now  he  's  thrown  us  down 
this  way,  and  how  I  'm  going  to  get  up  again  I  can't 
say. ' '  She  gave  him  one  of  her  shrewd  upward  glances ; 
tell  me, ' '  she  added. 

* '  I  can  tell  you, ' '  he  replied. 

'*How,  then?"  she  asked. 

** Marry  me,"  said  Christian.  '*This  acting — ^it  's  no 
good.  There  's  men  that  is  bad  all  around  you.  One 
of  them — I  broke  his  face  like  a  window-glass  down- 
stairs just  now — ^he  said  you  was — bad,  like  him.  And 
it  was  time  to  see  what  he  was  worth.  **  Unless  you  can 
you  are  ach — so — so  little,  so  weak.  Marry  me,  my 
kleintje  and  you  shall  be  nobody 's  fool. ' ' 

The  girl  on  the  bed  stared  at  him  dumbly:  this  was 
what  she  had  never  expected.  Salvation  had  come  to 
her  with  both  hands  full  of  gifts.  She  began  to  laugh 
foolishly. 

** Marry  me,"  repeated  Christian.     *'Will  you?" 

She  jumped  up  from  her  seat,  still  laughing  and  took 
two  steps  to  him. 

''Will  I?"  she  cried.  ''Will  a  duck  swim?  Yes,  I 
iwillj  yes,  yes,  yes!" 

173 


FLOWER  0'  THE  1>EACH 

Christian  looked  at  her  dazed;  events  were  sweeping 
him  off  his  feet.  He  took  one  of  her  hands  and  dropped 
it  again  and  turned  from  her  abruptly.  With  his  arm 
before  his  face  he  leaned  against  the  door  and  burst 
into  weeping.  The  girl  patted  him  on  the  back  sooth- 
ingly. 

''Take  it  easy,"  she  said  kindly.  ''You'll  be  all 
right,  never  fear." 

"That  's  all  the  Port  Elizabeth  ones,"  said  Paul. 
"How  many  do  you  make  them?" 

Christian  du  Preez  looked  up  uncertainly.  ^^Alle- 
machtag/'  he  said.  "I  forgot  to  count.  I  was  think- 
ing." 

"Oh.     About  the  tramp?" 

"Yes.  Paul,  what  did  you  bring  him  in  forT 
Could  n't  you  see  he  was  a  skellumf 

Paul  nodded.  "Yes,  I  could  see  that.  But — skeU 
lums  are  hungry  and  tired,  too,  sometimes." 

His  father  smiled  in  a  worried  manner.  He  and  Paul 
never  talked  intimately  with  each  other,  but  an  intimacy 
existed  of  feeling  and  thought.  They  took  many  of  the 
same  things  for  granted. 

"Like  us,"  he  agreed.     "Come  on  to  supper,  Paul." 


179 


CHAPTER  X 

IT  was  nearing  the  lunch  hour  when  Margaret 
walked  down  from  the  Sanatorium  to  the  farm, 
leaving  Ford  and  Mr.  Samson  to  their  unsociable  pre- 
occupations on  the  stoep,  and  found  Paul  among  the 
kraals.  He  had  some  small  matter  of  work  in  hand, 
involving  a  wagon-chain  and  a  number  of  yokes;  these 
were  littered  about  his  feet  in  a  liberal  disorder  and 
he  was  standing  among  them  contemplating  them  ear- 
nestly and  seemingly  lost  in  meditation.  He  turned 
slowly  as  Margaret  called  his  name,  and  woke  to  the 
presence  of  his  visitor  with  a  lightening  of  his  whole 
countenance. 

**Were  you  dreaming  about  models?"  inquired  Mar- 
garet.    **You  were  very  deep  in  something.'* 

Paul  shook  his  head.  '*It  was  about  wagons,'*  he  an- 
swered seriously.  **I  was  just  thinking  how  they  are 
always  going  away  from  places  and  coming  to  more 
places.     That 's  all." 

**  Wishing  you  had  wheels  instead  of  feet?  I 
see,"  smiled  the  girl.  *'What  a  traveler  you  are, 
Paul." 

He  smiled  back.  In  their  casual  meetings  they  had 
talked  of  this  before  and  Paul  had  found  it  possible  to 
tell  her  of  his  dreams  and  yearnings  for  what  lay  at 
the  other  end  of  the  railway  and  beyond  the  sun  mist 
that  stood  like  a  visible  frontier  about  his  world. 

**I  shall  travel  some  day,"  he  answered.  **Kami8 
180 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

says  that  a  man  is  different  from  a  vegetable  because 
he  hasn't  got  roots.  He  says  that  the  best  way  to  see 
the  world  is  to  go  on  foot/' 

**I  expect  he  's  right,"  said  Margaret.  ''It 's  jolly 
for  you,  Paul,  having  him  to  talk  to.  Do  you  know 
where  he  is  now  ? ' ' 

**Yes,''  answered  the  boy. 

**Well,  then,  when  can  I  see  him?  He  told  me  you 
could  always  let  him  know. ' ' 

**This  afternoon?"  suggested  Paul.  **If  you  could 
come  down  to  the  dam  wall  then,  he  can  be  there. 
There  is  a  signal  I  make  for  him  in  my  window  and  he 
always  sees  it. ' ' 

**I  '11  come  then,"  promised  Margaret.  ** Thank  you, 
Paul.  But  that  signal — that  's  rather  an  idea.  Did 
you  think  of  it  or  did  he?" 

**He  did,"  answered  Paul.  **He  said  it  wouldn't 
trouble  him  to  look  every  day  at  a  house  that  held  a 
friend.  And  he  does,  every  day.  There  was  only  once 
he  didn't  come,  and  then  he  had  twisted  his  ankle  a 
long  way  off  on  the  veld,  walking  among  ant-bear  holes 
in  the  dark." 

** Which  window  is  it?"  asked  Margaret. 

Paul  pointed.     *'That  end  one,"  he  showed  her. 

Margaret  looked,  and  a  figure  lounging  against  one 
of  the  doorposts  of  the  house  took  her  look  for  himself 
and  bowed. 

** That's  nobody,"  said  Paul  quickly.  '* Don't  look 
that  way.  It  's — it  's  a  tramp  that  came  to  me — and  I 
gave  him  a  shilling  to  keep  still  and  be  modeled — and 
he  knows  my  mother — and  he  's  staying  in  the  house. 
He  's  beastly;  don't  look  that  way." 

His  solicitude  and  his  jealousy  made  Margaret  smile. 
181 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

**I  shouldn't  see  him  if  I  did,"  she  said.  ** Don't 
you  worry,  Paul.     Then — this  afternoon?" 

*' Under  the  dam,"  replied  Paul.  **Good-by.  He  's 
waiting  for  a  chance  to  come  and  speak  to  you." 

'*Let  him  wait,"  replied  Margaret,  and  turned  home- 
wards, scrupulously  averting  her  face  from  the  ingrati- 
ating figure  of  Boy  Bailey. 

That  pensioner  of  fortune  watched  her  pass  along 
the  trodden  path  to  the  Sanatorium  till  she  was  clear 
of  the  farm,  and  then  put  himself  into  easy  movement 
to  go  across  to  Paul.  The  uncanny  combination  of 
Christian's  clothes  and  his  own  personality  drifted 
through  the  arrogant  sunlight  and  over  the  sober  earth, 
a  monstrous  affront  to  the  temperate  eye.  He  was  like 
a  dangerous  clown  or  a  comical  Mephistopheles.  Paul, 
pondering  as  he  came,  thought  of  a  pig  equipped  with 
the  venom  of  the  puff-adder  of  the  Karoo.  As  he  drew 
near,  the  boy  fell  to  work  on  the  chain  and  yokes. 

*'Well,  my  dear  boy."  The  man's  shadow  and  his 
voice  reached  Paul  together.  He  did  not  look  up,  but 
went  on  loosening  the  cross  bar  of  a  yoke  from  its 
link. 

* '  There  's  more  in  this  place  of  yours  than  meets  the 
eye  at  a  first  glance,"  said  Boy  Bailey.  *'You  're  well 
off,  my  lad.  Not  only  milk  and  honey  for  the  trouble 
of  lifting  'em  to  your  mouth,  but  dalliance,  silken  dalli- 
ance in  broad  daylight.  What  would  your  dear  mother 
say  if  she  knew?". 

**I  don't  know,"  said  the  boy.    '^Ask  her?" 

**And  spoil  sport?  Laddie,  you  '11  know  me  better 
some  day.  Not  for  worlds  would  I  give  a  chap's  game 
away.  It  's  not  my  style.  Poor  I  may  be,  but  not  that. 
No.     I  admire  your  taste,  my  boy.    You  've  an  eye  in 

182 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

your  head.  But  you  forgot  to  introduce  tlie  lady  to  your 
mother's  old  friend.  However,  you  11  be  seeing  her 
again,  no  doubt,  an'  then — " 

'a  didn't  forget,"  said  Paul.  Still  he  did  not  look 
up.  The  iron  links  shook  in  his  hands,  and  he  detached 
the  stout  crosspiece  and  laid  it  across  his  knees. 

*'Eh?"  Boy  Bailey's  face  darkened  a  little,  and  his 
wary  eyes  narrowed.  He  looked  down  on  the  boy's 
bent  back  unpleasantly. 

**You  didn't?"  he  said.  *'I  see.  Well,  well.  A 
chap  that  's  poor  must  put  up  with  these  slights."  His 
slightly  hoarse  voice  became  bland  again.  ''But  have 
it  your  own  way;  Heaven  knows,  I  don't  mind.  She  's 
a  saucy  little  piece,  all  the  same,  an'  p'r'aps  you  're 
right  not  to  risk  her  with  me.  If  I  got  her  by  herself, 
there  's  no  saying — " 

He  stopped;  the  boy  had  looked  up  and  was  rising. 
His  face  stirred  memories  in  Boy  Bailey;  it  roused 
images  that  were  fogged  by  years,  but  terrible  yet.  In 
the  instant's  grace  that  was  accorded  him,  he  felt  his 
wrist  gripped  once  more  and  saw  the  livid  clenched 
face,  tense  with  the  spirit  of  murder,  that  burned  above 
his  ere  his  own  hand  and  the  glass  it  held  were  dashed 
athwart  his  eyes.  The  boy  was  rising  and  he  held  the 
cross-bar  of  the  yoke  like  a  weapon. 

Boy  Bailey  made  to  speak  but  failed.  With  a  sort  of 
squeak  he  turned  and  set  off  running  towards  the  house, 
pounding  in  panic  over  the  ground  with  his  grotesque 
clothes  flapping  about  him  like  abortive  wings.  Paul, 
on  his  feet  amid  the  tangled  chains,  watched  him  with 
the  heavy  cross-bar  in  his  hand. 

If  he  had  any  clear  feeling  at  all,  it  was  disappoint- 
ment at  the  waste  of  a  rare  energy.     He  could  have 

183 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

killed  the  man  in  the  heat  of  it,  and  now  it  was  wasted. 
Boy  Bailey  was  whole,  his  pulpy  face  not  beaten  in,  his 
bones  functioning  adequately  as  he  ran  instead  of  creak- 
ing in  fractures  to  each  squirm  of  his  broken  body.  It 
was  an  occasion  squandered,  lost,  thrown  away.  It  had 
the  unsatisfying  quality  of  mere  prevention  when  it 
might  have  been  a  complete  cure. 

Margaret  returned  to  the  Sanatorium  in  time  to  meet 
Mrs.  Jakes  in  the  hall  as  she  led  the  way  to  lunch  and  to 
receive  the  unsmiling  movement  of  recognition  which 
had  been  her  lot  ever  since  the  night  of  Dr.  Jakes'  ad- 
venture. Contrary  to  Margaret's  expectation,  Mrs. 
Jakes  had  not  come  round ;  no  treatment  availed  to  con- 
vince her  that  she  had  not  been  made  a  victim  of  black 
treachery  and  the  doctor  wantonly  exposed  and  humil- 
iated. When  she  was  cornered  and  had  to  listen  to  ex- 
planations, she  heard  them  with  her  eyes  on  the  ground 
and  her  face  composed  to  an  irreconcilable  woodenness. 
When  Margaret  had  done — she  tried  the  line  of  humor- 
ous breeziness,  and  it  was  a  mistake — Mrs.  Jakes 
sniffed. 

*'If  you  please,"  she  said  frigidly,  *'we  won't  talk 
about  it.  The  subject  is  very  painful.  No  doubt  all 
you  say  is  very  true,  but  I  have  my  feelings." 

**So  have  I,"  said  Margaret.  **And  mine  are  being 
hurt." 

*'I  am  extremely  sorry,"  replied  the  little  wan  woman, 
with  stiff  dignity.  *  *  If  you  wish  it,  I  will  ask  the  doctor 
to  recommend  you  a  Sanatorium  elsewhere,  where  you 
may  be  more  comfortable." 

*'You  know  that  isn't  what  I  want,"  protested  Mar- 
garet. **This  is  all  very  silly.  I  only  want  you  to  un- 
derstand that  I  have  n't  done  you  any  harm  and  that  I 

184 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

did  the  best  I  could  and  let 's  stop  acting  as  if  one  of 
us  had  copied  the  other's  last  hat.'' 

**No  doubt  I  am  slow  of  understanding,  Miss  Hard- 
ing," retorted  Mrs.  Jakes  formidably.  **  However — 
if  you  have  quite  finished,  I  'm  in  rather  a  hurry  and  I 
won 't  detain  you. ' ' 

And  she  made  her  escape  in  good  order,  marching  un- 
hurried down  the  matted  corridor  and  showing  to  Mar- 
garet a  retreating  view  of  a  rigid  black  alpaca  back. 

Dr.  Jakes  was  equally  effective  in  his  treatment  of 
the  incident.  He  went  to  work  upon  her  lungs  quite 
frankly,  sending  her  to  bed  for  a  couple  of  days  and 
gathering  all  his  powers  to  undo  the  harm  of  which  he 
had  been  the  cause.  On  the  third  day,  there  was  a  fur- 
ther interview  in  the  study,  a  businesslike  affair, 
conducted  without  unnecessary  conversation,  with 
monosyllabic  question  and  reply  framed  on  the  most 
formal  models.  At  the  close  of  it,  he  leaned  back  in  his 
chair  and  faced  her  across  the  corner  of  his  desk.  He 
was  irresistibly  plump  and  crumpled  in  that  attitude, 
with  his  sad,  uncertain  eyes  expressing  an  infinite  ap- 
prehension and  all  the  resignation  of  a  man  who  has 
lost  faith  in  mercy. 

**That  is  all,  then.  Miss  Harding.     Unless—?" 

The  last  word  was  breathed  hoarsely.  Margaret 
waited.  He  gazed  at  her  owlishly,  one  nervous  hand 
fumbling  on  the  blotting-pad  before  him. 

** There  is  nothing  else  you  want  to  say  to  me?"  he 
asked. 

**I  can't  think  of  anything,"  said  Margaret. 

He  continued  to  look  at  her,  torpidly,  helplessly.  It 
was  impossible  to  divine  what  fervencies  of  inarticulate 
emotion  burned  and  quickened  behind  his  mask  of  im- 

185 


FLOWER  O'  THE  PEACH 

mobile  flesh.  The  rumpled  hair,  short  and  blond,  lay- 
in  disorder  upon  his  forehead  and  his  lips  were  parted 
impotently.  He  had  to  blink  and  swallow  before  he 
could  speak  again,  visibly  recalling  his  wits. 

*'If  you  don't  tell  me,  I  can't  answer,"  he  said,  and 
sighed  heavily.  He  raised  himself  in  his  big  chair  ir- 
ritably. 

** Nothing  more,  then?''  he  asked.  **Well — take  care 
•of  yourself.  Miss  Harding.  That  's  all  you  have  to  do. 
Whatever  happens,  your  business  is  to  take  care  of  your- 
self;  it 's  what  you  came  here  for." 

*'I  will,"  answered  Margaret.  She  wished  she  could 
find  a  plane  on  which  it  would  be  possible  to  talk  to 
him  frankly,  without  evasions  and  free  from  the  as- 
sumptions which  his  wife  wove  about  him.  But  the  res- 
ignation of  his  eyes,  the  readiness  they  expressed  to  ac- 
cept blows  and  penalties,  left  her  powerless.  The  gulf 
that  separated  them  could  not  be  bridged. 

*'Then — "  he  rose,  and  in  another  pair  of  moments 
Margaret  was  outside  the  study  door  in  the  hall,  where 
Mrs.  Jakes,  affecting  to  be  concerned  in  the  arrange- 
ment of  the  furniture,  examined  her  in  sidelong  glances, 
to  know  whether  she  had  used  the  weapon  which  the  doc- 
tor's  adventure  had  put  into  her  hand.  Apparently 
there  was  no  convincing  her  that  the  girl's  intentions 
were  not  hostile. 

It  did  not  simplify  life  for  Margaret,  this  enmity  of 
Mrs.  Jakes.  Lunch  and  breakfast  under  her  pale,  im- 
placable eye,  that  glided  upon  everything  but  skipped 
Margaret  with  a  noticeable  avoidance,  had  become  or- 
deals to  be  approached  with  trepidation.  Talk,  when 
there  was  anything  to  talk  about,  died  still-born  in  that 
atmosphere  of  lofty  displeasure.    It  was  done  with  a 

186 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

certain  deftness;  Mrs.  Jakes  was  incapable  of  anything 
crude  or  downright;  and  when  it  was  necessary,  in  or- 
der that  the  state  of  affairs  should  not  be  conspicuous, 
she  could  smile  towards  the  wall  at  the  girl's  back  and 
spare  her  an  empty  word  or  so,  in  a  way  that  was  some- 
times as  galling  as  much  more  dexterous  snubs  that  Mar- 
garet had  seen  administered.  One  can  *' field'*  a  snub 
that  conveys  its  purpose  in  its  phrasing  and  return  it 
with  effect  to  the  wicket;  but  there  is  nothing  to  be 
done  with  the  bare  word  that  just  stops  a  gap  from  be- 
coming noticeable. 

Ford  was  waiting  outside  the  front  door  when  Mar- 
garet came  out  after  exercising  the  virtue  of  forbear- 
ance throughout  a  meal  for  which  she  had  had  no  appe- 
tite. 

'*What  's  the  row  with  Mrs.  Jakes?"  he  asked,  with- 
out wasting  words  on  preamble. 

**0h,  nothing,"  answered  Margaret  crossly.  ''You  'd 
better  ask  her  if  you  want  to  know.  I  'm  not  going  to 
tell  you  anything." 

''Well,  don't,  then.  But  you  couldn't  arrange  a 
truce  for  meal-times,  could  you  ?  It  turns  things  sour — 
the  way  you  two  avoid  looking  at  each  other. ' ' 

"I  don't  care,"  said  Margaret.  "It  's  not  my  fault. 
I  've  been  as  loyal  as  anybody — more  loyal,  I  think,  and 
certainly  more  helpful.  I  've  done  simply  everything 
she  asked  of  me,  and  now  she  's  like  this." 

Ford  gave  her  a  whimsical  look  of  question. 

"Sure  you  haven't  at  some  time  done  more  than  she 
asked  you?"  he  inquired. 

"Why?"  Margaret  was  surprised.  She  laughed 
unwillingly.  "Is  it  shrewdness  or  have  you  heard 
something?" 

187 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

''I  haven't  heard  a  word,"  he  assured  her.  '*But  is 
that  it?" 

**It  's  just  your  natural  cleverness,  then?  Wonder- 
ful," said  Margaret.  **You  ought  to  go  on  the  stage, 
really.  Yes,  that  's  what  it  is — I  suppose.  And  now 
d'you  think  she  '11  see  the  reasonable  view  of  it?  Not 
she!  I  'm  a  villain  in  skirts  and  if  I  won't  stand  it, 
she  '11  ask  the  doctor  to  recommend  a  Sanatorium  where 
I  can  be  more  comfortable.  And  just  at  this  moment,  I 
don't  think  I  can  stand  much  more  of  it." 

**Eh?"  Ford  scowled  disapprovingly.  '*That  's  a 
rotten  thing  to  say.  You  don't  feel  inclined  to  tell  me 
about  it?" 

*'I  can't;  I  mustn't.  That  's  the  worst  of  it,"  an- 
swered Margaret.     **I  can't  tell  you  anything." 

**At  any  rate,"  said  Ford,  ''don't  take  it  into  your 
head  to  go  away.  This  won't  do  you  any  harm  in  the 
end.     You  weren't  thinking  of  it  seriously,  were  you?" 

*' Was  n't  I?    I  was,  though.     I  hate  all  this." 

Ford  took  a  couple  of  steps  toward  the  door  and  a 
couple  back. 

*'It  won't  weigh  with  you,"  he  said,  **but  I  'd  be 
sorry  if  you  went.  I  would,  personally — awfully  sorry. 
But  if  you  must  go,  you  must.  It  's  a  thing  you  can 
judge  for  yourself.     Still,  I  'd  be  sorry." 

Margaret  shrugged  impatiently. 

**0h,  I  'd  be  sorry,  too.  It  's  been  jolly,  in  a  way, 
with  you  here,  and  all  that.  I  'd  miss  you,  if  you  want 
to  know.     But — " 

She  stopped.     Ford  was  looking  at  her  very  gravely. 

** Don't  go,"  he  said,  and  put  his  thin,  sun-browned 
hand  upon  her  shoulder.     ''It  '11  make  things  simpler 

188 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

for  me  if  you  say  you  won't.     Things  will  arrange 
themselves,  but  even  if  they  don't — don't  go  away." 

** Simpler?     How  do  you  mean?" 

**Just  that,"  he  answered.  *'If  you  stay,  here  we 
are — friends.  We  help  each  other  out  and  talk  and 
see  each  other  and  have  time  before  us  and  there  's  no 
need  to  say  anything.  And  it 's  because  a  lunger  like 
me  must  n't  say  anything  till  he  sees  whether  he  's  go- 
ing to  get  well  or — or  stay  here  forever,  that  it  '11  be 
simpler  if  you  don't  go.     Do  you  see?" 

His  hand  upon  her  shoulder  was  pleasant  to  feel ;  she 
liked  the  freedom  he  took — and  gave — in  resting  it  there ; 
and  his  young,  serious  face,  touched  to  delicacy  by  the 
disease  that  governed  him,  was  patient  and  wise. 

''It  's  not  because  of  that  that  you  mustn't  say  any- 
thing," she  answered.  **I  didn't  know — ^you  've  given 
me  no  warning.    What  can  I  say  ? ' ' 

*'Say  you  won't  go,"  he  begged.  *'Say  you  won't 
act  on  any  decision  you  Ve  made  at  present.  And  then 
we  can  go  on — ^me  lecturing  you,  and  you  flouting  me, 
till — till  I  can  say  things — till  I  'm  free  to  say  what  I 
like  to  anybody." 

She  smiled  rather  nervously.  ''If  I  agree  now,"  she 
answered,  "it  will  look  as  if — "  she  paused;  the  thing 
was  difficult  to  put  in  its  nicety.  But  he  was  quick  in 
the  uptake. 

*'It  won't,"  he  said.  "I  'm  not  such  a  bounder  as 
that." 

*'But  I  'd  rather  be  here  than  take  my  chance  among 
other  people,"  she  went  on.  "I  suppose  I  can 
stand  Mrs.  Jakes  if  I  give  my  mind  to  it,  particularly 
if  you  '11  see  me  through." 

189 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

"I  '11  do  what  I  can,"  he  promised.  **You  '11  do  it, 
then?    You  11  stay?" 

*'I  suppose  so,"  said  Margaret.  His  hand  for  a  mo- 
ment was  heavier  on  her  shoulder ;  she  felt  as  though  she 
had  been  slapped  on  the  back,  with  the  unceremonious- 
ness of  a  good  friend;  and  then  he  loosed  her. 

**Good  of  you,"  he  answered  shortly. 

Both  were  weighted  by  the  handicap  of  their  race; 
they  had  been,  as  it  were,  trapped  into  a  certain  depth 
of  emotion  and  self-revelation,  and  both  found  a  diffi- 
culty in  stepping  down  again  to  the  safe  levels  of  com- 
monplace intercourse.  Ford  shoved  both  hands  into  his 
pockets  and  half -turned  from  her. 

*'W^ — doing  anything  this  afternoon?"  he  inquired 
in  his  Tersest  manner. 

*'Yes,"  said  Margaret,  whom  the  position  could  amuse. 

'^What?" 

**0h — going  yachting,"  she  retorted. 

He  sniffed  and  nodded.  *'I  'm  going  to  paint,"  he 
announced.     * '  So  long. ' ' 

Margaret  smiled  at  his  back  as  he  went,  and  its  ex- 
travagant slouch  of  indifference  and  ease.  She  knew 
he  would  not  look  round;  once  his  mood  was  defined,  it 
was  reliable  entirely;  but  she  felt  she  would  have  for- 
given him  if  he  had.  The  last  word  in  such  a  matter 
as  this  is  always  capable  of  expansion,  and  probably 
some  such  notion  was  in  the  mind  of  the  oracle  who  first 
pronounced  that  to  women  the  last  word  is  dear. 

He  was  still  at  his  easel  when  she  set  forth  to  keep  her 
appointment  under  the  dam  wall,  working  on  his  help- 
less canvas  with  an  intensity  that  spared  not  a  look  as 
she  went  by  on  the  parched  grass  below  the  stoep.  It 
was  a  low  easel,  and  he  sat  on  a  stool  and  spread  his 

190 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

legs  to  each  side  of  it,  like  a  fighter  crouched  over  an 
adversary,  and  his  thumb  was  busy  smudging  among 
masses  of  pigment.  Margaret  could  see  the  canvas  as  a 
faintly  shining  insurrection  of  colors  which  suggested 
that  he  had  broken  an  egg  upon  it.  A  score  of  times 
in  the  past  weeks  those  cryptic  messes  had  irritated  her 
or  showed  themselves  as  a  weakness  in  their  author. 
The  domineering  thumb  and  the  shock  tactics  of  the  pal- 
ette knife  had  supplied  her  with  themes  for  ridicule, 
and  the  fact  that  the  creature  could  not  paint  and  yet 
would  paint  and  refused  all  instruction  had  put  the  seal 
of  bitterness  on  many  a  day  of  weary  irritation.  But 
suddenly  his  incompetence  and  his  industry,  and  even 
the  unlovely  fruit  of  their  union — the  canvases  that  he 
signed  large  with  his  name  and  hung  unframed  upon 
the  walls  of  his  room — were  endearing ;  they  were  laugh- 
able only  as  a  little  child  is  laughable,  things  to  smile 
at  and  to  prize. 

Her  smiling  and  thoughtful  mood  went  with  her 
across  the  grass  and  dust  and  around  the  curved  shoul- 
der of  the  dam  wall,  where  Kamis,  obedient  to 
Paul's  signal,  sat  in  the  shade  and  awaited  her.  At  her 
coming  he  sprang  up  eagerly  with  his  face  alight.  His 
tweed  clothes  were,  if  anything,  shabbier  than  before, 
but  it  seemed  that  no  usage  could  subdue  them  to  con- 
gruity  with  the  broad  black  face  and  its  liberal  smile. 

*'This  is  great  luck,''  he  said.  *'I  half  expected 
you  'd  find  it  too  hot  for  you.  Are  you  all  right  again 
after  that  night?" 

Margaret  seated  herself  on  the  slope  of  the  wall  and 
rested  with  one  elbow  on  the  freshness  of  its  water-fed 
grass. 

*' Quite  all  right,"  she  assured  him.  *'Dr.  Jakes  has 
191 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

done  everything  that  needed  to  be  done.  But  I  didn't 
thank  you  half  enough  for  what  you  did. ' ' 

He  smiled  and  murmured  deprecatingly  and  found 
himself  a  place  to  sit  on  at  the  foot  of  the  wall,  with  legs 
crossed  and  his  back  to  the  sun.  Leaning  forward  a  lit- 
tle in  this  posture,  with  his  drooping  hat-brim  shad- 
owing him,  it  was  almost  possible  for  Margaret  to  avoid 
seeing  the  blunt  negro  features  for  which  she  had  come 
to  feel  something  akin  to  dread ;  they  affected  her  in  the 
same  way  that  darkness  with  people  moving  in  it  will 
affect  some  children. 

**I  saw  Paul's  signal,"  said  Kamis.  *'We  have  an 
understanding,  you  know.  He  hangs  a  handkerchief  in 
his  window  when  he  wants  me  and  when  you  want  me 
he  hangs  two.  It  shows  as  far  as  one  can  see  the  win- 
dow ;  all  the  others  are  just  black  squares,  and  his  has  a 
white  dash  in  it.  That  's  rather  how  I  see  Paul,  you 
know.  Other  people  are  just  blanks,  but  he  means 
something — to  me,  at  any  rate.  By  the  way,  before  I 
forget — did  you  want  me  for  anything  in  particular?" 

Margaret  shook  her  head.  *'I  wanted  to  talk,"  she 
said ;  *  *  and  to  make  that  police  matter  clear  to  you. ' ' 

''Oh,  that."     He  looked  up.     ''Thank  you." 

"Do  you  know  of  a  Mr.  Van  Zyl,  a  police-officer?" 
she  asked  him.  "He  thinks  you  are  guilty  of  sedition 
among  the  natives.  I  suppose  it  's  nonsense,  but  he 
means  to  arrest  you,  and  I  thought  you  'd  better 
know. ' ' 

"It  's  awfully  good  of  you  to  bother  about  it,"  he  an- 
swered. "I  '11  take  care  he  does  n 't  lay  hands  on  me. 
But  it  is  nonsense,  certainly,  and  anybody  but  he  would 
know  it.  He  's  been  scouring  the  kraals  in  the  south 
for  me  and  giving  the  natives  a  tremendous  idea  of  my 

192 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

importance.  They  were  nervous  enough  of  me  before, 
but  now — '' 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders  disgustedly,  but  still 
smiled. 

* '  That  is  what  he  said — they  're  uneasy, ' '  agreed  Mar- 
garet. *'But  why  are  they?  You  see,  I  know  scarcely 
more  of  you  than  Mr.  Van  Zyl.  What  is  it  that  trou- 
bles them  about  you?" 

*'0h,"  the  Kafir  deliberated.  **It  's  simple  enough, 
really.  You  see,''  he  explained,  ''the  fact  is,  I  'm  out 
of  order.  I  don't  belong  in  the  scheme  of  things  as  the 
natives  and  Mr.  Van  Zyl  know  it.  These  Kafirs  are  the 
most  confirmed  conservatives  in  the  world,  and  when 
they  see  a  man  like  themselves  who  can't  exist  without 
clothes  and  a  roof  to  sleep  under,  who  can't  walk  with- 
out boots  or  talk  their  language  and  is  unaccountable 
generally,  they  smell  witchcraft  at  once.  Besides,  it  has 
got  about  that  I  'm  Kamis,  and  they  know  very  well 
that  Kamis  was  hanged  about  twenty  years  ago  and  his 
son  taken  away  and  eaten  by  the  soldiers.  So  it 's 
pretty  plain  to  them  that  something  is  wrong  somewhere. 
Do  you  see?" 

''Still"— Margaret  was  thoughtful— "Mr.  Van  Zyl 
isn't  an  ignorant  savage." 

"No,"  agreed  Kamis.  "He  isn't  that.  For  dealing 
with  Kafirs,  he  's  probably  the  best  man  you  could  find ; 
the  natives  trust  him  and  depend  on  him  and  when 
they  're  in  trouble  they  go  to  him  and  he  gives  them  the 
help  they  want.  When  they  misbehave,  he  's  on  hand 
to  deal  with  them  in  the  fashion  they  understand  and 
probably  prefer.  And  the  reason  is.  Miss  Harding — the 
reason  is,  he  's  got  a  Kafir  mind.  He  was  born  among 
them  and  nursed  by  them ;  he  speaks  as  a  Kafir,  under- 
"  193 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

stands  as  a  Kafir  and  thinks  as  a  Kafir,  and  lie  '11  never 
become  a  European  and  put  away  Kafir  things. 
They  Ve  made  him,  and  at  the  best  he  's  an  ambassador 
for  the  Kafirs  among  the  whites.  That  's  how  they  mas- 
ter their  masters.  Oh,  they  've  got  power,  the  Kafirs 
have,  and  a  better  power  than  their  hocus-pocus  of 
witchcraft. ' ' 

The  afternoon  was  stored  with  the  day's  accumulated 
heat  and  the  cool  of  the  grass  beneath  and  the  freshness 
of  the  water,  out  of  sight  beyond  the  wall  but  diffusing 
itself  like  an  odor  in  the  air,  combined  to  contrast  the 
spot  in  which  they  talked  with  the  dazed  sun-beaten 
land  about  them  and  gave  to  both  a  sense  of  privacy  and 
isolation.  The  Kafir's  words  stirred  a  fresh  curiosity 
in  Margaret. 

*'He  thinks  you  are  making  the  natives  dangerous," 
she  said.  *'I  don't  believe  that,  of  course,  but  what  are 
you  doing?" 

*'What  am  I  doing?" 

The  black  face  was  lifted  to  hers  steadily  and  regarded 
her  for  a  space  of  moments  without  replying.  Nothing 
mild  or  subtle  could  find  expression  in  its  rude  shaping 
of  feature;  the  taciturnity  of  the  Karoo  itself  gov- 
erned it. 

''What  am  I  doing?"  repeated  Kamis.  He  dropped 
his  eyes  and  his  hands  plucked  at  the  grass  absently. 
*'Well,  I  'm  looking  for  a  life  for  myself." 

Margaret  waited  for  him  to  continue  but  he  was  silent, 
plucking  the  grass  shoots  and  shredding  them  in  his  fin- 
gers. 

* '  A  life, ' '  she  prompted.    '  *  Yes ;  tell  me. ' ' 

Kamis  finished  with  the  grass  in  his  hand  and  threw 
it  with  an  abriipt  gesture  from  him. 


FLOWER  0^  THE  PEACH 

**I  'U  tell  you  if  you  like,''  he  said,  as  though  sup- 
pressing a  feeling  of  reluctance.  **It  isn't  anything 
wonderful;  still — .  You  know  already  how  I  began; 
Paul  told  me  how  you  learnt  that ;  and  you  can  see  where 
I  've  got  to  with  my  education  and  my  degree  and  my 
profession  and  all  that.  I  'm  back  where  I  came  from, 
and  besides  what  I  've  learned,  I  Ve  got  a  burden  of  civ- 
ilized habits  and  weaknesses  that  keep  me  tied  by  the 
leg.  I  need  friendship  and  company  and  equality  with 
people  about  me,  just  as  you  do,  and  I  'm  apt  to  find  my- 
self rather  forlorn  and  lost  without  them.  In  England, 
I  had  those  things — I  had  some  of  them,  at  any  rate; 
but  what  was  there  for  a  black  doctor  to  do,  do  you 
think,  among  all  those  people  who  look  on  even  a  white 
foreigner  as  rather  a  curiosity?" 

"Wasn't  there  anything?"  Margaret  was  watching 
the  nervous  play  of  his  gesticulating  hands,  so  oddly 
emphasizing  his  pleasant  English  voice. 

"Nothing  worth  while.  That  's  another  of  my  trou- 
bles, you  see.  They  taught  me  and  trimmed  me  till  I 
couldn't  be  content  with  occasional  niggers  at  the  docks 
suffering  from  belaying-pin  on  the  brain.  It  was  n't  odd 
jobs  I  wanted,  handed  over  to  me  to  keep  me  happy;  I 
wanted  work.  We  niggers,  we  're  a  strong  lot  and  we 
can  stand  a  deal  of  wear  and  tear,  but  we  don 't  improve 
by  standing  idle.  I  wanted  to  come  out  of  that  glass 
case  they  kept  me  in,  with  tutors  and  an  allowance  from 
the  Government  and  an  official  guardian  and  all  that 
sort  of  thing,  and  make  myself  useful." 

He  paused.  "You  understand  that,  don't  you?"  he 
asked. 

**0f  course  I  do,"  replied  Margaret.  "If  I  could 
only  come  out  too !    But  I  've  got  all  those  weaknesses 

195 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

of  yours  and  this  as  well.''  Her  hand  rested  on  her 
chest  and  he  nodded. 

*  *  You  're  different, ' '  he  said.  '  *  You  must  n  't  be  worn 
and  torn.'' 

'*Well,  so  you  came  out  hereT' 

**It  's  my  country/'  he  answered,  and  waved  a  hand 
at  its  barrenness.  **It  was  my  father's,  a  good  deal  of 
it,  in  another  sense  too.  When  I  saw  that  living  in  Eng- 
land wasn't  going  to  lead  to  anjrthing,  I  thought  of 
this.  Somebody  ought  to  doctor  the  poor  beggars  who 
live  here  and  give  them  a  lead  towards  a  more  comforta- 
ble existence,  and  I  hoped  I  was  the  man  to  do  it.  I 
must  have  relations  among  them,  too ;  that 's  queer,  is  n't 
it?  Aunts — my  father  had  lots  of  wives — and  lashings 
of  cousins.  I  thought  the  steamer  was  bringing  me  out 
to  them  and  I  had  a  great  idea  of  a  welcome  and  all 
that;  but  I  'm  no  nearer  it  now  than  I  was  when  I 
started.  If  ever  I  seem  too  grateful  to  you  for  your  ac- 
quaintance. Miss  Harding — ^if  I  seem  too  humble  to  be 
pleasant  when  I  thank  you  for  letting  me  talk  to  you — 
just  remember  I  know  that  over  there  my  poor  black 
aunts  are  slaving  like  cattle  and  my  uncles  are  driving 
them,  and  when  I  come  they  dodge  among  the  huts  and 
manceuver  to  get  behind  me  with  a  club." 

''No,"  answered  Margaret  slowly.  *'I  '11  remind  you 
instead  of  all  you  're  doing  while  I  do  nothing." 

He  shook  his  head.  ''I  know  what  you  do  to  me,"  he 
said.  ' '  And  I  can 't  let  you  pity  me.  It  was  n  't  for  want 
of  warnings  I  came  out  here.  I  even  had  a  letter  from 
the  Colonial  Secretary.  And  I  must  tell  you  about  the 
remonstrances  of  my  guardian. ' ' 

He  laughed,  with  one  of  those  quick  transitions  of 
196 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

mood  which  characterize  the  negro  temperament.    It 
jarred  a  little  on  Margaret. 

**He  was  the  dearest  old  thing,"  he  went  on.  **He  's 
one  of  the  greatest  living  authorities  on  the  Bantu 
tongues — those  are  the  real  old  negro  languages,  I  be- 
lieve— and  he  was  out  here  once  in  his  wild  youth.  The 
Colonial  Office  appointed  him  to  take  charge  of  me  and 
he  used  to  come  down  to  the  schools  where  I  was  and 
give  me  a  sovereign.  He  'd  have  made  a  capital  uncle. 
He  had  a  face  like  a  beefy  rose,  one  of  those  big  flabby 
ones  that  tumble  to  pieces  when  you  pick  them — all  pink 
and  round  and  clean,  with  kind,  silly  blue  eyes  behind 
gold  spectacles.  I  had  to  get  his  consent  before  I  could 
move,  and  I  went  to  see  him  in  a  little  room  at  the  Brit- 
ish and  Foreign  Bible  Society 's  place  in  Queen  Victoria 
Street,  where  they  grow  the  rarer  kinds  of  Bible  under 
glass  in  holes  in  the  wall;  you  know.  He  was  correct- 
ing the  proofs  of  a  gospel  in  some  Central  African  dia- 
lect and  he  had  smudges  of  ink  round  his  mouth.  Suck- 
ing the  wrong  end  of  the  pen,  I  suppose.  He  really  was 
rather  like  a  comic-paper  professor,  but  as  kind  as  could 
be.  I  sat  down  in  the  chair  opposite  to  him,  with  the 
desk  between  us,  and  he  heard  what  I  'd  got  to  say,  wip- 
ing his  pen  and  sucking  it  while  I  told  him.  I  fancy  I 
began  by  being  eloquent,  but  I  soon  stopped  that.  He  's 
good  form  to  the  finger-tips  and  he  looked  so  pained. 
So  I  cut  it  short  and  told  him  what  I  wanted  to  do  and 
why.  And  when  I  'd  finished,  he  gave  me  a  solemn 
warning.  I  must  do  what  seemed  right  to  me,  he  said ; 
he  wouldn't  take  the  responsibility  of  standing  in  my 
way;  but  there  were  grave  dangers.  He  had  known 
young    men,    promising    young    men,    talented    young 

197 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

men — all  negroes,  of  course — who  had  returned  to 
Africa  after  imbibing  and  accepting  the  principles  of 
our  civilization.  They,  it  was  true,  were  West  Afri- 
cans, but  my  danger  was  the  same.  They  had  left  Eng- 
land in  clothes,  with  a  provision  of  soap  in  their  trunks, 
and  the  result  of  their  return  to  their  own  place  was — 
they  had  lapsed!  They  had  discontinued  the  clothes 
and  forsworn  the  soap.  *One  of  them,'  he  said,  'pre- 
sented a  particularly  sad  example.  He  whom  we  had 
known  and  respected  as  David  Livingstone  Smith  be- 
came the  leader  of  a  faction  or  party  whose  activities 
necessitated  the  despatch  of  a  punitive  expedition.  Un- 
der a  name  which,  being  interpreted,  signifies  *'The 
Scornful,"  he  presided  over  the  defeat  and  massacre 
of  that  armed  force.'  And  he  went  on  warning  me 
against  becoming  an  independent  monarch  and  forcing 
an  alliance  on  Great  Britain  by  means  of  an  ingenious 
war.  He  seemed  relieved  when  I  assured  him  that  I  had 
no  ambition  to  sit  in  the  seat  of  the  Scornful. ' ' 

He  laughed  again,  looking  up  at  Margaret  with  his 
white  teeth  flashing  broadly. 

*'Yes,"  she  said.     ''That  was— funny." 

Odd!  It  made  her  vaguely  restive  to  hear  the  Kafir 
make  play  with  the  shortcomings  of  the  white  man.  It 
touched  a  fund  of  compunction  whose  existence  she  had 
not  suspected.  Something  racial  in  her  composition, 
something  partizan  and  unreasoning,  lifted  its  obliter- 
ated head  from  the  grave  in  which  her  training  and  the 
conscious  leanings  of  her  mind  had  buried  it. 

He  had  no  thoughts  of  what  it  was  that  kept  her  from 
returning  his  smile.  He  imagined  that  his  mission,  his 
loneliness  and  his  danger  had  touched  her  and  made  her 
grave. 

198 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

**Well,  you  see  how  it  all  came  about?''  he  went  on. 
'*It  isn't  really  so  extraordinary,  is  it?  And  I  'm  not 
discouraged,  Miss  Harding.  I  shall  find  a  way,  sooner 
or  later;  they  're  bound  to  get  used  to  me  in  the  end. 
In  the  meantime,  Paul  is  teaching  me  Kafir,  and  there  's 
you.    You  make  up  to  me  for  a  lot. ' ' 

'*Do  I?"  Margaret  roused  herself  and  sat  up,  de- 
liberately thrusting  down  out  of  her  consciousness  that 
instinctive  element  which  bade  her  do  injustice  and  with- 
hold from  the  man  before  her  his  due  of  acknowledg- 
ment. 

*'Do  I?"  she  said.    **I  'd  be  glad  if  that  were  so." 

He  made  to  speak  but  stopped  at  her  gesture. 

*'No,"  she  said.  *'I  would  be  glad.  It  's  a  wonder- 
fully great  thing  you  've  started  to  do,  and  you  're  lucky 
to  have  it.     You  feel  that,  don't  you?" 

"Yes,"  he  said  thoughtfully.     "Oh,  yes." 

She  eyed  him  with  a  moment's  hesitation,  for  he  had 
not  agreed  with  any  alacrity,  and  a  martyr  who  regards 
his  stake  with  aversion  is  always  disappointing. 

"Oh,  you  're  sure  to  succeed,"  she  said.  "People 
who  undertake  things  like  this  don't  fail.  And  if,  as 
you  say,  I  'm  any  kind  of  help  to  you,  I  'm  glad.  I  'm 
awfully  glad  of  it.  It  makes  coming  out  here  worth 
while,  and  I  shall  always  be  proud  that  I  was  your 
friend." 

"  Will  you  ?     Does  it  strike  you  like  that  ? ' ' 

"Yes,"  said  Margaret. 

She  was  above  him  on  the  bank  and  he  sat  on  the 
ground  with  his  head  at  the  level  of  her  knees.  His 
worn  and  shabby  clothes,  the  patience  of  his  face,  and 
even  the  hands  that  lay  empty  in  his  lap,  joined  with 
his  lowly  posture  to  give  him  an  aspect  of  humility. 

199 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

He  was  like  a  man  acclimatized  to  oppression  and  ill 
fortune,  accepting  in  a  mild  acquiescence,  without  ques- 
tion and  without  hope,  the  wrongs  of  a  tyrannous 
destiny. 

''I  shall  be  proud,''  she  repeated.  ** Always."  She 
held  forth  her  hand  to  him  in  token  of  that  friendship, 
leaning  down  that  he  might  take. 

He  did  not  do  so  at  once.  His  eyes  flashed  to  her 
with  a  startled  glance,  and  he  seemed  at  a  loss.  He 
lifted  himself  to  his  knees  and  put  his  own  hand,  large 
and  fine  for  all  the  warm  black  of  the  back  of  it,  the 
hand  of  a  physician,  refined  to  nice  uses,  under  hers 
without  clasping  it.  His  movement  had  some  of  the 
timidity  and  slavishness  of  a  dog  unused  to  caresses;  a 
dumb-brute  gratitude  was  in  his  regard.  He  bent  his 
black  head  humbly  and  printed  a  kiss  upon  her  slender 
fingers. 

It  was  a  thing  that  exhausted  the  situation ;  Margaret, 
a  little  breathless  and  more  than  a  little  moved,  met 
his  gaze  as  he  rose  with  a  smile  that  was  not  clear  of 
embarrassment.  Neither  knew  what  to  say  next;  the 
kiss  upon  her  hand  had  transformed  their  privacy  into 
secrecy. 

**My  love  is  like  a   black,   black  rose." 

It  sounded  above  them,  from  the  top  of  the  dam  wall, 
an  outrageous  bellow  of  melody  that  thrust  itself  ob- 
scenely between  them  and  split  them  asunder  with  the 
riving  force  of  a  thunderbolt.  Intolerably  startled  by 
the  suddenness  of  it,  Margaret  nearly  fell  down  the 
slope,  and  saving  herself  with  her  hands  turned  her 
face,  whitened  by  the  shock,  towards  the  source  of  the 

200 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

noise.  Another  face  met  hers,  parting  the  long  grasses 
on  the  crown  of  the  wall. 

Her  amazed  and  ambushed  faculties  saw  it  as  a  face 
only.  It  was  attached  to  no  visible  body,  solitarily  self- 
sufficient  in  an  unworthy  miracle.  It  did  not  occur  to 
her  that  the  owner  of  it  must  be  lying  on  his  belly  at 
the  water's  edge,  and  for  the  moment  she  was  not 
equal  to  deducing  that  he  must  have  heard,  and  possi- 
bly even  seen,  all  that  had  passed.  She  saw  merely  a 
face  projected  over  her,  that  grinned  with  a  fixity  that 
was  not  without  an  imbecile  suggestion.  It  was  old  with 
a  moldy  and  decayed  quality,  bunched  into  pouches  be- 
tween deep  wrinkles,  and  yet  weak  and  appealing.  A 
wicked  captive  ape  might  show  that  mixture  of  gleeful 
sin  and  slavishness. 

** Don't  think  I  'm  not  shocked,  because  I  am,"  it 
uttered  distinctly.  ''Kissing!  1  saw  you.  An*  if  any- 
body had  told  me  that  a  lady  of  your  looks  would  take 
on  a  Kafir,  I  wouldn't  ha'  believed  it." 

The  face  heaved  and  rose  and  lifted  to  corroborate  it 
the  cast-off  clothes  of  Christian  du  Preez,  enveloping 
the  person  of  Boy  Bailey.  He  shuffled  to  a  sitting  posi- 
tion on  the  edge  of  the  wall,  and  it  was  a  climax  to 
his  appearance  that  his  big  and  knobly  feet  were  bare 
and  wet.  He  had  been  taking  his  ease  with  his  feet  in 
the  water  while  they  talked  below,  a  hidden  audience 
to  their  confidences.     He  shook  his  head  at  them. 

"Dam  walls  have  got  dam  ears,"  he  observed.  **You 
naughty  things,  you." 

Margaret  turned  helplessly  to  Kamis  for  light. 

*'Whatisit?"sheasked. 

He  had  jumped  to  his  feet  and  away  from  her  at 
the  first  sound,  and  now  turned  a  slow  eye  upon  her. 

201 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

The  negro  countenance  is  the  home  of  crude  emotions; 
the  untempered  extremes  have  been  its  sculptors  through 
the  ages.  Its  mirth  is  a  guffaw,  its  sorrow  is  a  howl, 
its  wrath  is  the  naked  spirit  of  murder.  He  looked 
at  her  now  with  a  face  alight  and  transfigured  with 
slaughterous  intention. 

**Go  away,"  he  said,  in  a  whisper.  *'Go  away  now. 
He  must  have  heard.     I  '11  deal  with  him.'' 

** Don't,"  said  Margaret.  She  rose  and  put  a  hand 
on  his  arm.     **Will  you  speak  to  him,  or  shall  I?" 

*'Not  you,"  he  answered  quickly.  *'But — "  he  was 
breathless  and  his  face  shone  as  with  a  light  sweat. 
**He  '11  tell/'  he  urged,  still  whispering.  **You  don't 
know — it  would  be  frightful.  Go  quickly  away  and 
leave  me  with  him." 

*'They  're  at  it  still,"  sounded  the  voice  above  them. 
** Damme,  they  can't  stop." 

Kamis  was  desperate  and  urgent.  He  cast  a  wild  eye 
towards  the  man  on  the  top  of  the  wall,  and  went  on 
with  agitated  earnestness. 

*'I  tell  you,  you  don't  know.  It  's  enough  that  you 
were  here  with  a  Kafir  and  he  kissed  your  hand."  He 
slapped  his  forehead  in  an  agony.  '^Oh,  I  ought  to  be 
hanged  for  that.  They  '11  never  believe — nobody  will. 
In  this  country  that  sort  of  thing  has  only  one  mean- 
ing— a  frightful  one.  I  can't  bear  it.  If  you  don't 
go" — he  gulped  and  spoke  aloud — **I  '11  go  up  and 
kill  him  before  your  eyes." 

**Now,  now!"  The  voice  remonstrated  in  startled 
tones. 

Margaret  still  had  her  hand  on  his  arm,  and  could 
feel  that  he  was  trembling.  She  had  recovered  from 
the  shock  of  the  surprise  and  was  anxious  to  purge  the 

202 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

situation  of  the  melodramatic  character  which  it  seemed 
to  have  assumed.  Kamis'  whispered  fears  failed  to  con- 
vince her. 

''You  'II  do  nothing  of  the  kind/'  she  said.  ''I  don't 
care  what  people  think.     Speak  to  the  man  or  I  will." 

Kamis  lifted  his  head  obediently. 

**Come  down,"  he  said.  ''Come  down  and  say  what 
you  want." 

Mr.  Bailey  recovered  his  smile  as  he  shook  his  head. 

"I  can  say  it  here,"  he  replied.  "Don't  you  worry, 
Snowball ;  it  won 't  strain  my  voice. ' ' 

Kamis  gulped.     "What  do  you  want?"  he  repeated. 

"Ah!  What?"  inquired  Boy  Bailey  rhetorically. 
"I  come  here  of  an  afternoon  to  collect  my  thoughts  an' 
sweeten  the  dam  by  soaking  my  Trilbies  in  it  an'  what 
happens?  I  'm  half-deafened  by  the  noise  of  kissing. 
I  look  round,  an '  what  do  I  see  ?     I  ask  you — ^what  ? ' ' 

He  brought  an  explanatory  forefinger  into  play,  thick 
and  cylindrical  like  a  damaged  candle. 

"First,  thinks  I,  here  's  a  story  that  's  good  for 
drinks  in  any  bar  between  Dopfontein  and  Fereira 
— with  perhaps  a  tar-and-feathering  for  the  young 
lady  thrown  in."  He  nodded  meaningly  at  Margaret. 
"And  it  wouldn't  be  the  first  time  that's  happened 
either." 

"Ye-es,"  said  Kamis,  who  seemed  to  speak  with 
difficulty.  "But  you  won't  get  away  alive  to  tell  that 
story. ' ' 

"Hear  me  out."  Boy  Bailey  shook  his  finger. 
' '  That  's  what  I  thought  first.  My  second  thought  was : 
what  's  the  sense  of  making  trouble  when  perhaps 
there  's  a  bit  to  be  got  by  holdin'  my  tongue?  How 
does  that  strike  you  ? ' ' 

203 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

Margaret  had  been  leaning  on  her  stick  while  he 
spoke,  prodding  the  earth  and  looking  down.  Now  she 
raised  her  eyes. 

*'The  first  thought  was  the  best,"  she  said.  *^You 
won't  get  anjrthing  here." 

**Eh?"  Mr.  Bailey  was  astonished.  ''You  don't 
understand,  Miss,"  he  said.  *'Ask  Snowball,  there — 
he  '11  tell  you.  In  this  country  we  don't  stand  women 
monkeying  with  niggers.  Hell — ^no.  It 's  worth, 
well—" 

*'Not  a  penny,"  said  Margaret.  ''I  don't  care  in 
the  least  whom  you  tell.    But — not  one  penny." 

Kamis  was  listening  in  silence.  Margaret  smiled  at 
him  and  he  shook  his  head.  On  the  top  of  the  wall 
Mr.  Bailey  leaned  forward  persuasively.  He  had  some- 
thing the  air,  in  so  far  as  his  limitations  permitted,  of 
benevolence  wrestling  with  obstinacy,  the  air  which  in 
auctioneers  is  an  asset. 

**You  don't  mean  that,  I  know,"  he  said  indulgently. 
'*I  can  see  you  're  going  to  be  sensible.  You  wouldn't 
let  a  trifle  of  ready  money  stand  between  you  an' 
keepin'  your  good  name — a  nice,  ladylike  girl  like 
you.  Why,  for  less  than  what  you  've  done,  women 
have  been  stoned  in  the  streets  before  now.  Come  now ; 
I  'm  not  going  to  be  hard  on  you.     Make  an  offer." 

He  sat  above  them  against  the  sky,  beaming  pain- 
fully, always  with  a  wary  apprehension  at  the  back  of 
his  regard. 

*'You  won't  go  away?"  demanded  Kamis  suddenly. 
*'You  won't?  You  know  I  can't  do  it  if  you  're  here. 
Then  I  'm  going  to  pay." 

**You  shan't,"  retorted  Margaret.  **I  won't  have 
it,  I  tell  you.    I  don't  care  what  he  does." 

204 


FLOWER  0*  THE  PEACH 

**I  'm  going  to  pay,"  repeated  Kamis.  **It  's  that 
or — you  won't  go  away?'^ 

**No,"  said  the  girl  angrily. 

**Then  I  'm  going  to  pay."  He  turned  from  her. 
**I  11  give  you  twenty  pounds,"  he  called  to  Bailey. 

** Double  it,"  replied  Boy  Bailey  promptly;  *'add 
ten;  take  away  the  number  you  thought  of;  and  the 
answer  is  fifty  pounds,  cash  down,  and  dirt  cheap  at 
that.  Put  that  in  my  hand  and  I  '11  clear  out  of  here 
within  the  hour  and  you  '11  never  hear  of  me  again." 

Kamis  nodded  slowly.  *'If  I  do  hear  of  you  again," 
he  said,  **I  '11  come  to  you.  Paul  will  bring  you  the 
money  to-morrow  morning,  and  then  you  '11  go." 

**Right-0."  Mr.  Bailey  rose  awkwardly  to  his  feet 
and  made  search  for  his  boots.  With  them  in  his  hands, 
he  looked  down  on  the  pair  again. 

**It  's  your  risk,"  he  warned  them.  '*If  that  cash 
don't  come  to  hand,  you  look  out;  there  '11  be  a  slump 
in  Kafirs." 

He  went  off  along  the  wall,  disappearing  in  sections 
as  he  descended  its  shoulder.  His  gray  head  in  its 
abominable  hat  was  the  last  to  disappear ;  it  sailed  loft- 
ily, as  became  the  heir  to  fifty  pounds. 

Margaret  frowned  and  then  laughed. 

**What  an  absurd  business,"  she  cried.  *' Supposing 
he  had  told  and  there  had  been  a  row — ^it  would  have 
been  better  than  this  everlasting  stagnation.  It  would 
have  been  more  like  life. ' ' 

The  Kafir  sighed.  *'Not  life,"  he  answered  gently. 
**Not  your  life.     It  meant  a  death  in  life — like  mine." 

His  embarrassed  and  mournful  look  passed  beyond 
her  to  the  Karoo,  spreading  its  desolation  to  the  skies 
as  a  blind  man  might  lift  his  eyes  in  prayer. 

205 


CHAPTER  XI 

THE  deplorable  hat  which  shielded  Mr.  Bailey 
from  the  eye  of  Heaven  traveled  at  a  thoughtful 
pace  along  the  path  to  the  farmhouse,  cocked  at  a 
confident  angle  upon  a  head  in  which  faith  in  the 
world  was  re-established.  Boy  Bailey  had  no  doubt 
that  the  money  would  be  forthcoming.  What  he  had 
heard  of  the  conversation  between  Margaret  and  Kamis 
had  assured  him  of  the  Kafir's  resources  and  he  felt 
himself  already  as  solvent  as  if  the  minted  money  were 
heavy  in  his  pockets.  A  pleasant  sense  of  security 
possessed  his  versatile  spirit,  the  sense  that  to-morrow 
may  be  counted  upon.  For  such  as  Mr.  Bailey,  every 
day  has  its  price. 

He  gazed  before  him  as  he  walked,  at  the  house,  with 
its  kraals  clustered  before  it  and  its  humble  appanage 
of  out-buildings,  with  a  gentle  indulgence  for  all  its 
primitive  and  domestic  quality.  Meals  and  a  bed  were 
what  they  stood  for,  merely  the  raw  framework  of 
intelligent  life,  needing  to  be  supplemented  and  filled 
in  with  more  stimulating  accessories.  They  satisfied 
only  the  immediate  needs  of  a  man  adrift  and  hungry; 
they  offered  nothing  to  compensate  a  lively  mind  for 
its  exile  from  the  fervor  of  the  world.  Fifty  pounds, 
the  fine  round  sum,  not  alone  made  him  independent 
of  its  table  and  its  roof,  but  opened  afresh  the  way  to 
streets  and  lamplight,  to  the  native  heath  of  the  wan- 
dering Bailey,  who  knew  his  fellow  men  from  above  and 

206 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

below — ^Kafirs,  for  instance,  he  saw  from  an  altitude 
— but  had  few  such  opportunities  as  this  of  meeting 
them  on  a  level  of  economic  equality.  There  came  to 
him,  as  he  dwelt  in  thought  upon  his  good  fortune, 
a  clamorous  appetite  for  what  fifty  pounds  would  buy. 
Capetown  was  within  his  reach,  and  he  recalled  small 
hotels  on  steep  streets,  whose  back  windows  looked 
forth  on  flat  roofs  of  Malay  houses,  where  smells  of 
cooking  and  people  loaded  the  sophisticated  air  and 
there  was  generally  a  woman  weeping  and  always  a  man 
drunk.  A  little  bedroom  with  an  untidy  bed  and  beer 
bottles  cooling  in  the  wash-hand  basin  by  day; 
saloons  where  the  afternoon  sun  came  slanting  upon 
furtive  men  initiating  the  day's  activities  over  glasses; 
the  electric-lit  night  of  Adderley  Street  under  the  big 
plate-glass  windows,  where  business  was  finished  for  the 
shops  and  ofiices  and  newly  begun  for  the  traders  in 
weakness  and  innocence — he  knew  himself  in  such  sur- 
roundings as  these.  He  could  slip  into  them  as  noise- 
lessly as  a  snake  into  a  pool,  with  no  disturbance  to 
those  inscrutable  devotees  of  daylight  and  industry 
who  carry  on  their  plain  affairs  and  downright  trans- 
actions without  suspecting  the  existence  of  the  world 
beneath  them,  where  Boy  Bailey  and  his  fellows  stir 
and  dodge  and  hide  and  have  no  illusions,  save  that 
hunger  is  ever  fed  or  thirst  quenched. 

He  paused  at  the  open  door  of  the  farmhouse,  re- 
called to  the  present  by  the  sound  of  voices  from  the 
kitchen  at  the  end  of  the  passage,  where  Christian  du 
Preez  and  his  wife  were  engaged  in  bitter  talk.  Boy 
Bailey  stepped  delicately  over  the  doorstep  on  to  the 
mat  within  and  stood  there  to  listen,  if  there  should  be 
anything  worth  listening  to.    A  smile  played  over  his 

207 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

large  complacent  features,  and  he  waited  with  his  head 
cocked  to  one  side.  Something  in  which  the  word 
'* tramp"  occurred  as  he  came  through  the  door  flat- 
tered him  with  the  knowledge  that  the  dispute  was 
about  himself. 

Mrs.  du  Preez  spoke,  and  her  shrill  tones  were 
plainly  audible. 

*'I  don't  make  no  fuss  when  your  dirty  old  Doppers 
outspan  here  an'  come  sneakin'  in  for  coffee,  an'  some 
of  them  would  make  a  dog  sick.  Bailey  's  got  his 
troubles,  but  he  don't  do  like  Oom  Piet  Coetzee  did 
when — " 

An  infuriate  rumble  from  Christian  broke  in  upon 
her.    Boy  Bailey  smiled  and  shook  his  head. 

**Now,  now,"  he  murmured.     ** Language,  please." 

*'He  's  worse  than  a  Kafir  in  the  house,"  Christian 
went  on.  **  Woman,  it  makes  me  sick  when  he  looks  at 
you,  like  an  old  silly  devil." 

**So  long  as  he  don't  look  like  an  old  silly  Dutch- 
man, I  don't  mind,"  retorted  his  wife.  **I  'm  fairly 
sick  of  it  all — ^you  an'  your  Doppers  and  all.  And  just 
because  you  can't  tell  when  a  gentleman  's  having  his 
bit  of  fun,  you  come  and  howl  at  me. ' ' 

**Howl."  The  word  seemed  to  sting.  **Howl.  Yes, 
instead  of  howling  I  should  take  my  gun  and  let  him 
have  one  minute  to  run  before  I  shoot  at  him.  You 
like  that  better,  eh?    You  like  that  better?" 

'^Christian."  There  was  alarm  in  Mrs.  du  Preez 's 
voice.  Behind  the  shut  door  of  the  kitchen,  Bailey 
could  picture  Christian  reaching  down  the  big  Martini 
that  hung  overhead  with  oiled  rags  wrapped  about  its 
breech. 

208 


FLOWER  0^  THE  PEACH 

**Time  for  me  to  cut  in  at  this,"  reflected  Mr. 
Bailey.     *'I  never  was  much  of  a  runner." 

He  walked  along  the  passage  with  loud  steps,  acting 
a  man  returned  from  a  constitutional,  restored  by  the 
air  and  at  peace  with  the  whole  human  race. 

Mrs.  du  Preez  and  Christian  were  facing  one  another 
over  the  length  of  the  table ;  they  turned  impatient  and 
angry  faces  towards  the  door  as  he  opened  it  and  thrust 
his  personality  into  the  scene.  He  fronted  them  with 
his  terrible  smile  and  his  manner  of  jaunty  amity. 

**Hot,  ain't  it?"  he  inquired.  *'I  Ve  been  down  by 
the  dam  and  the  water  's  nearly  on  the  boil." 

Neither  answered;  each  seemed  watchful  of  the 
other's  first  step.  Christian  gave  him  only  a  dark 
wrathful  look  and  Mrs.  du  Preez  colored  and  looked 
away.  Boy  Bailey,  retaining  his  smile  under  difficulties, 
tossed  his  hat  to  a  chair  and  entered. 

**Not  interrupting  anything,  am  I?"  he  inquired. 

*'You  're  not  interrupting  me,"  replied  Mrs.  du 
Preez.     **I  've  said  all  I  'd  got  to  say." 

**But  I  haven't  said  all  I  've  got  to  say,"  retorted 
Christian  from  his  end  of  the  table.  **We  was  talking 
about  you." 

*  *  About  me  ? "  said  Bailey,  with  mild  surprise.    *  *  Oh. ' ' 

**Yes."  The  Boer,  leaning  forward  with  his  hands 
gripping  the  thick  end  of  the  table,  had  a  dangerous 
look  which  warned  Bailey  that  impudence  now  might 
have  disastrous  consequences. 

*' Yes — about  you.    My  wife  says  you  are  a  gentleman 

and   got   gentleman's   manners   and   you   are   her   old 

friend.     She    says    you    don't    mean    harm    and    you 

don't  look  bad  and  dirty.     She  says  I  don't  know  how 

1*  209 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

gentlemen  speak  and  look  and  I  am  wrong  to  say  you 
are  a  beast  with  the  mark  of  the  beast. ' ' 

Bailey  shifted  uncomfortably  under  his  gaze  of  fury 
held  precariously  in  leash,  and  edged  a  little  towards 
Mrs.  du  Preez.  He  was  afraid  the  big,  bearded  man 
might  spring  forward  and  help  out  his  words  with  his 
fist. 

**Very  kind  of  Mrs.  du  Preez,"  he  murmured  warily. 

'^She  says  all  that.  But  I  say" — the  words  rasped 
from  Christian's  lips — '^7  say  you  are  a  man  rotten 
like  an  old  Qg^  and  the  breath  in  your  mouth  is  a  stink 
of  wickedness.  And  I  tell  her  that  sometimes  I  get  up 
from  my  food  and  go  out  because  if  I  don't  I  shall 
stamp  you  to  death.  Gott  verdam!  Your  dirty  eyes 
and  your  old  yellow  teeth  grinning — I  stand  them  no 
longer.    You  have  had  rest  and  skoff — now  you  go." 

Bailey's  face  showed  some  discomposure.  His  dis- 
advantage lay  in  the  danger  that  the  Boer  was  plainly 
willing  to  be  violent.  He  had  returned  to  the  house 
with  the  intention  of  announcing  that  on  the  morrow 
he  would  take  his  departure,  but  it  was  not  the  prospect 
of  spending  a  night  in  the  open  that  disconcerted  him. 
It  was  simply  that  he  disliked  to  be  treated  thus  loftily 
by  a  man  he  despised.  He  stole  a  glance  at  Mrs.  du 
Preez. 

She  was  staring  at  her  husband  with  shrewdness  and 
doubt  expressed  in  her  face,  as  though  she  were  check- 
ing her  valuation  of  him  by  the  fierce  figure  at  the  other 
end  of  the  table,  with  big,  leathery  hands  clutched  on 
the  edge  of  the  board  and  thin,  sun-tanned  face  intent 
and  wrathful  above  the  uneven  beard.  She  was  re- 
visiting with  an  unsympathetic  eye  each  feature  of  that 
irreconcilable  factor  in  her  life,  her  husband, 

210 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

**D*you  hear  me?"  thundered  the  Boer.    *^You  go." 

He  pointed  with  sudden  forefinger  to  the  door,  and  his 
gesture  was  unspeakably  daunting  and  wounding. 

**Ye-es,"  hesitated  Boy  Bailey,  and  sighed.  The 
pointing  finger  compelled  him  like  a  hand  on  his  col- 
lar, and  he  moved  with  shuffling  and  unwilling  feet  to 
the  chair  where  his  hat  lay.  He  fumbled  with  it  as 
he  picked  it  up  and  it  fell  to  the  floor.  The  finger  did 
not  for  a  moment  pretermit  its  menacing  command. 
He  sighed  again  and  drew  the  door  open. 

** Bailey."  Mrs.  du  Preez  spoke  sharply,  with  a 
trembling  catch  in  her  voice.     ''Bailey,  you  stop  here." 

*'Eh?"  He  turned  in  the  doorway  with  alacrity. 
Another  moment  and  it  might  have  been  too  late. 

"  Go  on, "  cried  the  Boer.     ' '  Out  you  go,  or  I  '11— ' ' 

' '  Stop  where  you  are,  Bailey, ' '  cried  Mrs.  du  Preez. 

She  came  across  the  room  with  a  run  and  put  herself 
in  front  of  Bailey,  facing  her  husband. 

"Now,"  she  said,  '^now  what  d'you  think  you'll 
do?" 

The  Boer  heaved  himself  upright,  and  they  fronted 
one  another  stripped  of  all  considerations  save  to  be 
victor  in  the  struggle  for  the  fate  of  Boy  Bailey.  It 
was  the  iron-hard  cockney  against  the  Boer. 

''I  told  him  to  go,"  said  Christian.  "If  he  doesn't 
go— I '11  shoot." 

He  cast  an  eye  up  to  the  gun  in  its  place  upon  the 
wall. 

"You  will,  will  you?"  The  bitter  voice  was  mock- 
ing.    "Now,  Christian,  you  just  listen  to  me." 

"He  '11  go,"  said  the  Boer. 

"Oh,  he  '11  go,"  answered  Mrs.  du  Preez.  "He  '11 
go  all  right,  if  you  say  so.    But  mark  my  words.    You 

211 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

go  turning  my  friends  out  of  the  house  like  this,  and 
so  help  me,  I  '11  go  too.  Get  that  straight  in  your  head, 
old  chap — it  *s  right.  Bailey  's  not  fretting  to  stay 
with  you,  you  know.  You  're  not  such  good  company 
that  you  need  worry  about  it.  It  's  me  he  came  to 
see,  not  you.  And  you  pitch  him  out;  that  's  all. 
Bailey  goes  to-night,  does  he?  Then  I  go  in  the  morn- 
ing.'' 

She  nodded  at  him,  the  serious,  graphic  nod  that 
promises  more  earnestly  than  a  shaken  fist. 

''What!"  The  Boer  was  taken  by  surprise.  *'If 
he  goes — " 

''I  '11  go— yes." 

She  was  entirely  in  earnest;  her  serious  purpose  was 
plain  to  him  in  every  word  she  spoke.  She  threatened 
that  which  no  Boer  could  live  down,  the  flight  of  a 
wife.  He  stared  at  her  almost  aghast.  In  the  slow 
processes  of  his  amazed  mind,  he  realized  that  this,  too, 
had  had  to  come — the  threat  if  not  the  deed;  it  was 
the  due  and  logical  climax  of  such  a  marriage  as  his. 
Her  thin  face,  still  pretty  after  its  fashion,  and  her 
slight  figure  that  years  had  not  dignified  with  matronly 
curves,  were  stiffened  to  her  monstrous  purpose. 
Whether  she  went  or  not,  the  intention  dwelt  in  her. 
It  was  another  vileness  in  Boy  Bailey  that  he  should 
have  given  it  the  means  of  existence. 

Both  of  them,  his  wife  and  Mr.  Bailey,  screened  by 
her  body,  thought  that  he  was  vanquished.  He  stood 
so  long  without  answering  that  they  expected  no  an- 
swer. Bailey  was  framing  a  scene  for  the  morrow  in 
which  he  should  renounce  the  reluctant  hospitality  of 
the  Boer;    ''I  can  starve,  but  I  can't  stand  meanness." 

212 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

He  had  got  as  far  as  this  when  the  Boer  recovered  him- 
self. 

With  an  inarticulate  cry  he  was  suddenly  in  motion, 
irresistibly  swift  and  forceful.  A  sweep  of  his  arm 
cleared  Mrs.  du  Preez  from  his  path  and  sent  her  reel- 
ing aside,  leaving  Boy  Bailey  exposed.  Christian 
seemed  to  halt  at  the  threshold  of  the  room  and  thrust 
a  long  arm  out,  of  which  the  forked  hand  took  Boy 
Bailey  by  the  thick  throat  and  dragged  him  in.  He 
held  the  shifty,  ruined  face,  now  contorted  and  writhen 
from  his  grip  like  the  face  of  a  hanged  man,  at  the 
level  of  his  waist  and  beat  upon  it  with  the  back  of 
his  unclenched  right  hand  again  and  again.  Boy 
Bailey's  legs  trailed  upon  the  floor  lifelessly;  only  at 
each  dull  blow,  thudding  like  a  mallet  on  his  blind 
face,  his  weak  arms  fluttered  convulsively.  Mrs.  du 
Preez,  who  had  fallen  against  the  table,  leaned  forward 
with  hands  clasped  against  her  breast  and  watched  with 
a  fascinated  and  terror-stricken  stare. 

Boy  Bailey  uttered  a  windy  moan  and  Christian 
dropped  him  with  a  gesture  of  letting  fall  something 
that  defiled  his  hand.  The  beaten  creature  fell  like  a 
wet  towel  and  was  motionless  and  limp  about  his  feet. 
Across  his  body,  Christian  looked  at  his  wife.  He 
seemed  to  her  to  tower  above  that  meek  and  impotent 
carcass,  to  impend  hatefully  and  dreadfully. 

* '  Throw  water  on  him, ' '  he  said.  * '  In  an  hour,  I  will 
come  back  and  if  I  see  him  then,  I  will  shoot. ' ' 

She  did  not  answer,  but  continued  to  stare. 

'*You  hear?''  he  demanded. 

She  gulped.    '*Yes." 

**Good,"  he  said.    He  stepped  over  the  body  of  Boy 

213 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

Bailey  and  mounted  on  a  chair,  where  he  reached  down 
the  rifle.  He  gave  his  wife  another  look;  she  had  not 
moved.  He  shrugged  and  went  out  with  the  gun  under 
his  arm. 

It  was  not  till  the  noise  of  his  steps  ceased  at  the 
house-door  that  Mrs.  du  Preez  moved  from  her  attitude 
of  defeat  and  fear.  She  came  forward  on  tiptoe,  edged 
past  Boy  Bailey's  feet  and  crouched  to  peer  round  the 
doorpost.  She  had  to  assure  herself  that  Christian  was 
gone.  She  went  furtively  along  the  passage  and 
peeped  out  over  the  kraals  to  be  finally  certain  of  it 
and  saw  him,  still  with  the  gun,  walking  down  to  the 
further  fold  where  Paul  was  knee-deep  in  sheep.  She 
came  back  to  the  room  and  closed  the  door  carefully, 
going  about  it  with  knitted  brows  and  a  face  steeped 
in  preoccupation.  Not  till  then  did  she  turn  to  attend 
to  Boy  Bailey. 

* '  Oh,  God, ' '  she  cried  in  a  startled  whisper  as  she  bent 
above  him,  for  his  eyes  were  open  in  his  bloody  face 
and  the  battered  features  were  feeling  their  way  to  the 
smile. 

She  fell  on  her  knees  beside  him. 

** Bailey,"  she  said  breathlessly.  *'I  thought  you — 
I  thought  he  'd  killed  you." 

Boy  Bailey  rose  on  one  elbow  and  felt  at  his  face. 

'*Him!"  he  exclaimed,  with  all  the  scorn  that  could 
be  conveyed  in  a  whisper.  **Him!  He  couldn't  kill 
me  in  a  year.     Why,  he  never  even  shut  his  fist. ' ' 

He  wiped  the  blood  from  his  fingers  by  rubbing  them 
on  the  smooth  earth  of  the  floor  and  sat  up. 

''Why,"  he  said,  ''take  his  gun  away  and  I  wouldn't 
say  but  what  I  'd  hammer  him  myself.     Him  kill  me 

214 


FLOWER  0^  THE  PEACH 

— why,  down  in  Capetown  once  I  had  a  feller  go  for 
me  with  a  bottle  an'  leave  me  for  dead,  an'  I  was 
havin'  a  drink  ten  minutes  after  he  'd  gone.  He  isn't 
coming  back  yet,  is  he  ? " 

*'No — not  for  an  hour." 

She  had  hardly  heard  him,  so  desperately  was  she 
concentrated  on  the  one  idea  that  occupied  her  mind. 

''Well,  I  won't  wait  for  him,"  said  Mr.  Bailey. 
*'I  '11  get  some  of  this  muck  off  my  face  an' — an'  have 
a  drink,  if  you  '11  be  so  kind,  and  then  I  '11  fade.  But 
if  ever  I  see  him  a^ain — " 

''Bailey,"  said  Mrs.  du  Preez,  "where  '11  you  go?" 

"Where?  Well,  to-night  I  reckon  to  sleep  in  plain 
air,  as  the  French  say — or  is  it  the  Germans? — some- 
where about  here  till  I  can  get  word  with  a  certain 
nigger  who  owes  me  money.  And  then,  off  to  the 
station  on  my  tootsies  and  take  train  back  to  the  land 
of  ticky  (threepenny)  beer  and  Y.  M.  C.  A.'s." 

"England?"  asked  Mrs.  du  Preez. 

"England  be — "  Boy  Bailey  hesitated — "mucked," 
he  substituted.  "Capetown,  me  dear;  the  metropolis 
of  our  foster  motherland.  It  's  Capetown  for  me,  where 
the  Christian  Kafirs  come  from." 

"Bailey,"  said  Mrs.  du  Preez.     "Bailey,  take  me." 

"What?"  demanded  Boy  Bailey.  "Take  you 
where  ? ' ' 

"Take  me  with  you."  She  was  still  kneeling  beside 
him  and  she  put  a  hand  on  his  arm  urgently,  looking 
into  his  blood-stained  and  smashed  face.  "I  won't  stay 
with  him  now.  I  said  I  wouldn't  and  I  won't.  I  'd 
die  first.  And  you  and  me  was  always  good  pals, 
Bailey.     Only   for  that  breakdown   at  Fereira,   we  'd 

215 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

have — we  might  have  hitched  up  together.  You  were 
always  hinting — ^you  know  you  were,  Bailey.  Don't 
you  know?" 

*' Hinting?"  He  was  surprised  at  last,  but  still 
wary.     **But  I  wasn't  hinting  at — supporting  you?" 

*'I  didn't  say  you  were,"  she  answered  eagerly. 
** Bailey,  I  'm  not  a  fool;  I  've  got  temperament  too. 
You  said  yourself  I  had,  only  the  other  day.  And — 
and  I  can 't  stop  with  him  now. ' ' 

Mr.  Bailey  looked  at  his  fingers  thoughtfully  and  felt 
his  face  again. 

**Fact  is,"  he  said  deliberately,  '*you  're  off  your 
balance.  You  '11  live  to  thank  me  for  not  taking  ad- 
vantage of  it.  You  '11  say,  *  Bailey  had  me  and  let  me 
go,  as  a  gentleman  would.  He  remembered  I  was  a 
mother.  Bless  him.'  That  's  what  you  '11  say  when 
you  're  an  old  woman  with  your  grandchildren  at  your 
knee.  And  anyhow,  what  d'you  think  you'd  do  in 
Capetown?    You  ain't  far  off  forty,  are  you?" 

She  shook  him  by  the  arm  she  held  to  fix  his  atten- 
tion. 

'* Bailey,"  she  said.  **That  don't  matter  for  a  time. 
I  've  got  a  bit  of  money,  you  know.  I  'm  not  leaving 
that  behind." 

'  *  Money,  have  you  ? " 

The  wonderful  thing  in  women  such  as  Mrs.  du  Preez 
is  that  they  see  so  clearly  and  yet  act  so  blindly. 
They  know  they  are  sacrificed  for  men's  gain  and  do 
not  conceal  their  knowledge.  They  count  upon  base- 
ness, cruelty  and  falsity  as  characteristics  of  men  in 
general  and  play  upon  these  qualities  for  their  purposes. 
But  furnish  them  with  a  reason  for  depending  upon  a 
man,  and  they  will  trust  him,  uphold  him,  obey  him,  lean 

216 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

upon  him  and  compensate  the  flimsiest  rascal  for  the 
world's  contempt  and  hardness  by  yielding  him  a  will- 
ing victim. 

They  looked  at  each  other.  Bailey  still  sitting  on 
the  floor,  she  on  her  knees,  and  each  read  in  the  other's 
eyes  an  appraisement  and  a  stratagem.  The  coffee- 
pot that  stood  all  day  beside  the  fire  to  be  ready  for 
Boer  visitors,  sibilated  mildly  at  their  backs. 

*'It  wouldn't  last  for  ever,  the  bit  you  've  got,"  said 
Bailey.     ** There  's  that  to  think  of." 

"It  's  a  good  bit, ' '  she  replied. 

**Is  it — is  it  as  much  as  fifty  pounds?"  he  asked. 

**It  's  more,"  she  answered.  ** Never  you  mind  how 
much  it  is,  Bailey.  It 's  a  good  bit  and  it  's  mine,  not 
his." 

He  thought  upon  it  with  his  under-lip  caught  up  be- 
tween his  teeth,  almost  visibly  reviewing  the  possibilities 
of  profit  in  the  company  of  a  woman  who  had  money 
about  her.  Mrs.  du  Preez  continued  to  urge  him  in  hard 
whispers. 

*'I  'd  never  manage  it  by  myself,  Bailey,  or  I 
would  n  't  be  begging  you  like  this.  I  Ve  tried  to  bring 
myself  to  it  again  and  again,  but  I  was  n  't  game  enough. 
And  it  isn't  as  if  I  was  goin'  to  be  a  burden  to  you. 
It  won't  be  long  before  I  '11  get  a  job — you  '11  see. 
A  barmaid,  p'r'aps,  or  I  might  even  get  in  again  with 
a  show.  I  haven't  lost  my  figure,  anyhow.  And  as 
for  staying  here  now,  with  him,  after  this — Bailey,  I  11 
take  poison  if  you  leave  me." 

Boy  Bailey  frowned  and  looked  up  at  the  clock  which 
swung  a  pendulum  to  and  fro  against  the  wall,  as 
though  to  invite  human  affairs  to  conduct  themselves  in 
measure. 

217 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

**Well,  we  haven't  got  too  much  time  to  talk  about 
it/'  he  said.  **He  said  an  hour.  Now  supposin'  I 
take  you,  you  know  it  's  a  case  of  footin'  it  down  the 
line  to  the  next  siding?  It  wouldn't  suit  me  to  be 
nabbed  with  you  on  my  hands.  He  'd  shoot  as  soon 
as  think  about  it,  and  then  where  would  I  be  ? '  * 

**I  can  walk,"  Mrs.  du  Preez  assured  him  eagerly. 
'*You  'II  take  me  with  you,  then,  Bailey?'' 

Boy  Bailey  sighed.  **0h,  I  '11  take  you,"  he  said. 
**I  '11  take  you,  since  your  mind  's  made  up.  My  good 
nature  has  been  the  ruin  of  me — ^that  and  my  tempera- 
ment.    But  don't  forget  later  on  that  I  warned  you." 

Mrs.  du  Preez  jumped  up.  *'I  won't  forget,"  she 
promised.  **This  is  my  funeral.  Get  up  from  there, 
Bailey,  and  we  '11  have  a  drink  on  it." 

They  made  their  last  arrangements  over  the  glasses. 
Christian's  absence  was  to  be  counted  upon  for  the 
greater  part  of  the  next  day ;  their  road  would  be  clear. 

The  first  word  above  a  whisper  which  had  been 
spoken  since  Christian  left  them  was  by  Mrs.  du  Preez. 
She  sat  down  her  glass  at  the  last  with  a  jolt. 

*'But,  Bailey,"  she  cried,  on  a  note  of  hysterical 
gaiety,  *' Bailey — ^we  got  to  be  careful,  I  know,  and  all 
that — but  what  a  lark  it  '11  be." 

He  stared  at  her,  not  quick  enough  to  keep  up  with 
her  mounting  mood.  She  was  flushed  and  feverish  with 
excitement  and  the  reaction  of  strong  feeling  and  her 
eyes  danced  like  a  child's  on  the  brink  of  mischief. 

**The  woman  's  a  fool,"  thought  Boy  Bailey. 

His  own  attitude  towards  the  affair,  as  he  reviewed 
it  that  night  in  the  forage-shed,  where  he  reposed  full 
dressed  in  the  scent  of  dry  grasses  and  stared  reflectively 
through  a  gap  in  the  roof  at  the  immortal  patience  of 

218 


FLOWER  0^  THE  PEACH 

the  stars,  was  strictly  businesslike.  Not  even  a  desire 
to  be  revenged  upon  Christian  du  Preez,  who  had  called 
him  names  and  beaten  him,  impaired  the  consistency  of 
that  attitude.  Boy  Bailey  allowed  for  a  certain  pro- 
portion of  thrashings  in  his  experiences;  they  ranked 
in  the  balance-sheet  of  his  transactions  as  a  sort  of 
office  expenses.  They  had  to  be  kept  down  to  the  low- 
est figure  compatible  with  convenience  and  good 
business,  but  they  were  not  to  be  weighed  against  a 
lucky  deal.  The  one  thing  that  engaged  his  fancy  was 
the  fact  that  the  woman,  though  close  on  forty,  would 
come  with  money  about  her — more  than  fifty  pounds. 
It  would  make  up  his  equipment  to  a  handsome,  an  im- 
posing, figure.  Never  before  had  he  possessed  a  round 
hundred  pounds  in  one  sum.  The  mere  possibilities 
that  it  opened  out  were  exciting;  it  seemed  as  large 
and  as  inexhaustible  as  any  other  large  sum.  He  did 
not  dwell  on  the  fact  that  it  belonged  to  Mrs.  du  Preez 
and  not  to  him;  he  did  not  even  give  his  mind  to  a 
scheme  for  securing  it.  All  that  was  detail,  a  thing  to 
be  settled  at  any  advantageous  moment.  A  dodge,  a 
minute  of  drowsiness  on  her  part — or  perhaps,  at  most, 
a  blow  on  the  breasts — would  secure  the  conveyance  of 
the  money  to  him.  In  the  visions  of  Capetown  that 
hovered  on  the  outskirts  of  his  thought,  a  ghostly 
seraglio  attending  his  nod,  there  moved  many  figures, 
but  Mrs.  du  Preez  was  not  among  them.  His  imagina- 
tion made  a  circuit  about  her  and  her  fate,  or  at  most 
it  glanced  with  brevity  and  distaste  on  the  spectacle  of  a 
penniless  woman  weeping  on  a  bench  at  a  wayside 
station,  seeing  the  tail-lights  of  a  vanishing  train 
blurred  through  tears. 

**I  knew  I  'd  strike  it  lucky  one  of  these  days,''  was 
219 


FLOWER  O'  THE  PEACH 

Mr.  Bailey's  reflection,  as  he  composed  himself  to 
slumber.  **With  two  or  three  more  like  her — I  '11  be  a 
millionaire  yet." 

The  stars  watched  his  upturned  face  as  he  slept  with 
a  still  scrutiny  that  must  have  detected  aught  in  its 
unconscious  frankness  that  could  redeem  it  or  suggest 
that  once  it  had  possessed  the  image  of  God.  He 
slept  as  peacefully,  as  devotedly,  as  a  baby,  confiding 
his  defenselessness  to  the  night  with  no  tremors  or  un- 
certainty. He  left  unguarded  the  revelations  of  his 
loose  and  feeble  face  that  the  mild  stars  searched,  al- 
ways with  their  stare  of  stagnant  surprise. 

In  the  farmhouse,  there  was  yet  a  light  in  the  win- 
dows when  dawn  paled  the  eastward  heaven.  Christian 
du  Preez  slept  in  his  bed  unquietly,  with  clenched  hands 
outstretched  over  the  empty  place  beside  him,  and  in 
another  room  Paul  had  transferred  himself  from  wak- 
ing dreams  to  a  dream-world.  Tiptoeing  here  and  there 
in  the  house,  Mrs.  du  Preez  had  gathered  together  the 
meager  handful  of  gear  that  was  to  go  with  her;  she 
had  shaken  out  a  skirt  that  she  treasured  and  made 
ready  a  hat  that  smelt  of  camphor.  Her  money,  in 
sovereigns,  made  a  hard  and  heavy  knob  in  a  knotted 
napkin.  All  was  gathered  and  ready  for  the  journey 
and  yet  the  light  shone  in  the  window  of  the  parlor 
where  she  sat  through  the  hours.  Her  hands  were  in 
her  lap  and  there  were  no  tears  in  her  eyes — ^it  was 
beyond  tears.     She  was  taking  leave  of  her  furniture. 

She  saw  her  husband  at  breakfast,  facing  him  across 
the  table  with  a  preoccupied  expression  that  he  took 
for  sullenness.  She  did  not  see  the  grimness  of  his 
countenance  nor  mark  his  eye  upon  her ;  she  was  think- 
ing in  soreness  of  heart  of  six  rosewood  chairs,  up- 

220 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

bolstered  in  velvet,  a  rosewood  table,  a  sofa,  and  the 
rest  of  it — the  profit  of  her  marriage,  her  sheet-anchor 
and  her  prop.  She  felt  as  though  she  had  given  her 
life  for  them. 

Christian  rode  away  with  his  back  to  the  sun,  with 
no  word  spoken  between  them,  and  as  his  pony  broke 
into  a  lope — the  Boer  half-trot,  half-canter, — he  caught 
and  subdued  an  impulse  to  look  back  at  the  house. 
Even  if  he  had  looked,  he  would  hardly  have  seen  the 
cautious  reconnoiter  of  Boy  Bailey's  head  around  the 
comer  of  it,  as  that  camp-follower  of  fortune  made 
sure  of  his  departure.  Thrashings  Mr.  Bailey  could 
make  light  of,  but  the  Boer's  threat  of  shooting  had 
stuck  in  his  mind.  He  rested  on  his  hands  and  knees 
and  stuck  his  chin  close  to  the  ground  in  prudent  care 
as  he  peered  about  the  corner  of  the  house  to  see  the 
owner  of  the  rifle  make  a  safe  offing. 

Even  when  the  Boer  had  dwindled  from  sight,  swal- 
lowed up  by  the  invisible  inequalities  of  the  ground 
that  seemed  as  flat  as  a  table,  he  avoided  to  show  him- 
self in  the  open.  He  lurked  under  the  walls  of  kraals, 
frightening  farm  Kafirs  who  came  upon  him  suddenly 
and  finally  made  a  sudden  appearance  before  Paul  at 
the  back  of  the  house. 

'*I  won't  waste  words  on  you,''  he  said  to  the  boy. 
**I  Ve  got  something  better  to  do,  thank  God.  But  I  'm 
told  you  have  a  message  for  me. ' ' 

**Two  messages,"  said  Paul. 

**One  '11  do,"  replied  Boy  Bailey.  ''I  don't  want  to 
hear  you  talking.  I  've  been  insulted  here  and  I  'm 
not  done  with  you  yet.  Mind  that.  So  hand  over  what 
you  've  got  for  me  and  be  done  with  it — d'you  hear?" 

''Here  it  is."  Paul  put  his  hand  into  the  loose  bosom 
221 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

of  his  shirt  and  drew  out  a  small  paper  packet.    He 
held  it  out  to  Boy  Bailey. 

**That!''  Boy  Bailey  trembled  as  he  seized  it,  with 
a  frightful  sense  of  disappointment.  He  had  seen  the 
money  as  gold,  a  brimming  double  handful  of  minted 
gold,  with  gold's  comforting  substance  and  weight. 
The  packet  he  took  into  his  hand  was  no  fatter  than 
a  fat  letter  and  held  no  coin. 

He  rent  the  covering  apart  and  stared  doubtfully  at 
the  little  wad  of  notes  it  contained,  sober-colored  paper 
money  of  the  Bank  of  Africa.  It  had  never  occurred 
to  him  that  the  Kafir,  Kamis,  would  have  his  riches  in  so 
uninspiring  a  shape.  Two  notes  of  twenty  pounds  each 
and  one  of  ten  and  all  three  of  them  creased  and  dirty. 
No  chink,  no  weight  to  drag  at  his  pocket  and  keep  him 
in  mind  of  it,  none  of  the  pomp  and  panoply  of  riches. 

**Why — ^why,"  he  stammered.  *'I  told  him — cash 
down.  Damn  the  dirty  Kafir  swindler,  what  does  he 
call  this?'' 

*' Blackmail,  I  think  he  said,"  replied  Paul.  *'That 
was  the  other  message.  If  you  don't  do  what  you  said 
you  'd  do,  you  '11  go  to  tronh  (jail)  for  it,  and  I  am  to 
be  a  witness.  That  's  if  he  doesn't  kill  you  himself — 
like  I  told  him  he  'd  better  do." 

Boy  Bailey  arrived  by  degrees  at  sufficient  composure 
to  pocket  the  notes,  thrusting  them  deep  for  greater  se- 
curity and  patting  them  through  the  cloth. 

*'0h,  you  told  him  that,  did  you?"  he  said.  *'And 
you  call  yourself  a  white  man,  do  you?  Murder,  is  it? 
You  look  out,  young  feller.  You  don't  know  the  risks 
you  're  running.     I  'm  not  a  man  that  forgets. ' ' 

But  Paul  was  not  daunted.  He  watched  the  battered 
face  that  threatened  him  with  an  expression  which  the 

222 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

other  did  not  understand.  There  was  a  curious  warm 
interest  in  it  that  might  have  flattered  a  man  less  bare 
of  illusions  as  to  his  appearance. 

**I  suppose  you  Ve  never  seen  a  black  eye  before, 
you  gaping  moon-calf/'  he  cried  irritably.  **What  are 
you  staring  like  that  for?" 

Paul  smiled.  **I  would  give  you  a  shilling  again  to 
let  me  make  a  model  of  you,"  he  answered.  **I  'd  give 
you  two  shillings." 

Boy  Bailey  swore  viciously  and  swung  on  his  heel. 
He  was  stung  at  last  and  he  had  no  answer.  He  made 
haste  to  get  around  the  corner  and  away  from  eyes  that 
would  keep  the  memory  of  him  as  he  appeared  to  Paul. 

It  was  more  than  an  hour  later  that  Mrs.  du  Preez 
discovered  him,  squatting  under  the  spikes  of  a  dusty 
aloe,  humped  like  a  brooding  vulture  and  grieving  over 
that  last  affront.  He  lifted  mournful  eyes  to  her  as  she 
stood  before  him. 

*' Bailey,"  she  said  breathlessly.  ''I  hunted  every- 
where for  you.     I  thought  you  'd  gone  without  me. '  * 

She  was  ready  for  the  long  flight  on  foot.  All  that 
she  had  in  the  way  of  best  clothes  was  on  her  body, 
everything  she  could  not  bring  herself  to  leave.  The 
seemliness  of  Sunday  was  embodied  in  her  cloth  coat 
and  skirt,  her  cream  silk  bosom  and  its  brooches,  the 
architectural  elaborateness  of  her  hat.  She  stood  in  the 
merciless  sun  in  all  her  finery,  with  sweat  on  her  fore- 
head and  a  small  bundle  in  each  hand. 

"You  ^re  coming,  then?"  he  asked  stupidly. 

She  stamped  her  foot  impatiently.  **0f  course  I  'm 
coming,"  she  said.  ** Don't  go  into  all  that  again, 
Bailey.  D '  you  think  I  'd  stop  with  him  now,  after — 
after  everything?" 

223 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

She  was  holding  desperately  to  her  resolution,  eager 
to  be  off  before  the  six  rosewood  chairs,  the  table  and 
the  sofa  should  overcome  her  and  make  good  their  claim 
to  her. 

**What  *s  those?"  Bailey  nodded  at  the  bundles  tor- 
pidly. 

"Oh,''  she  was  burning  to  be  moving,  to  be  com- 
mitted, to  see  her  boats  flaming  and  smoking  behind 
her.  **This  is  grub,  Bailey.  We  '11  want  grub,  won't 
we?    And  this  is  my  things." 

**The — er — money,  I  suppose,  an'  all  that?" 

**Yes,  yes.  Oh,  do  come  on,  Bailey.  The  money  's 
all  here.  Everything  's  here.  You  carry  the  grub  an' 
let  's  be  going." 

**The  grub,  eh?"  Mr.  Bailey  rose  grunting  to  his 
feet.     '*You  'd  rather— well,  all  right." 

None  viewed  that  elopement  to  mark  how  Mrs.  du 
Preez  slipped  her  free  hand  under  Bailey's  arm  and 
went  forth  at  his  side  in  the  bravery  she  had  donned 
as  though  to  bring  grace  to  the  occasion.  Paul  was 
down  at  the  dam  with  sheep,  and  before  he  returned  the 
brown  distances  of  the  Karoo  had  enveloped  them  and 
its  levels  had  risen  behind  them  to  blot  out  the  dishon- 
ored roof  of  the  house. 

At  the  hour  of  the  midday  meal,  Paul  ate  alone,  con- 
tentedly and  unperturbed  by  his  mother's  absence. 
For  all  he  knew  she  had  one  of  her  weeping  fits  up- 
stairs in  her  bedroom,  and  he  was  careful  to  make  no 
noise. 


224 


CHAPTER  XII 

MARGARET  entered  the  drawing-room  rather 
late  for  tea  and  Mrs.  Jakes  accordingly  ac- 
knowledged her  arrival  with  an  extra  stoniness  of  re- 
gard. In  his  place  by  the  window,  Ford  turned  from 
his  abstracted  contemplation  of  the  hot  monotony 
without  and  sent  her  a  discreet  and  private  smile 
across  the  tea-table.  Mrs.  Jakes,  noting  it  and  the 
girl's  response,  tightened  her  mouth  unpleasantly  as 
the  suspicion  recurred  to  her  that  there  was  *' something 
between ''  Mr.  Ford  and  Miss  Harding.  More  than 
once  of  late  she  had  noticed  that  their  intercourse  had 
warmed  to  the  stage  when  the  common  forms  of  expres- 
sion need  to  be  helped  out  by  a  code  of  sympathetic  looks 
and  gestures.  She  addressed  the  girl  in  her  thinnest 
tones  of  extreme  formality. 

**I  thought  perhaps  you  were  n't  coming  in,''  she  said. 
'*I  'm  afraid  the  tea  's  not  very  hot  now." 

''I  11  ring,"  said  Mr.  Samson,  diligently  handing  a 
chair. 

** Please  don't,"  said  Margaret,  taking  it.  *'I  don't 
mind  at  all.    Don't  bother,  anybody." 

"I  forget  if  you  take  sugar,  Miss  Harding,"  said 
Mrs.  Jakes,  pouring  negligently  from  the  pot.  Ford 
grinned  and  turned  quickly  to  the  window  again. 

*'No  sugar,  thanks,"  answered  Margaret  agreeably; 
**and  no  milk  and  no  tea." 

**No  tea?"  Mrs.  Jakes  raised  her  eyebrows  in  severe 
15  225 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

surprise  and  looked  up.  The  movement  sufficed  to 
divert  the  stream  from  the  tea-pot  so  that  it  flowed 
abundantly  on  the  hand  which  held  the  cup  and  splashed 
thence  into  the  sugar  basin.  She  sat  the  pot  down 
sharply  and  reached  for  her  handkerchief  with  a  smoth- 
ered ejaculation  of  annoyance. 

**0h,  I  'm  sorry,''  said  Margaret.  '^But  how  lucky 
you  didn't  keep  it  hot  for  me.  You  might  have  been 
scalded,  mightn't  you?" 

* '  Thank  you, ' '  replied  Mrs.  Jakes,  with  all  the  dignity 
she  could  summon  while  she  mopped  at  her  sleeve. 
* '  Thank  you ;  I  am  not  hurt. ' ' 

That  was  the  second  time  Margaret  had  turned  her 
own  guns,  her  own  little  improvised  pop-guns  of  inef- 
fectual enmity,  back  upon  her;  and  she  did  not  quite 
understand  how  it  was  done.  The  first  time  had  been 
when  she  had  pretended  not  to  hear  a  remark  Mar- 
garet had  addressed  to  her.  The  girl  had  crossed  the 
room  and  joined  Dr.  Jakes  in  his  hearth-rug  exile,  and 
Mr.  Samson  had  stared  while  Ford  laughed  silently 
but  visibly.  Mrs.  Jakes  had  not  understood  the 
implication  of  it;  she  was  only  aware,  reddening  and 
resentful,  that  Margaret  had  scored  in  some  subtle 
fashion. 

The  hatred  of  Mrs.  Jakes  was  a  cue  to  consistency 
of  action  no  less  plain  than  her  love.  **I  like  people  to 
know  their  own  minds, ' '  was  one  of  her  self-revelations, 
and  she  believed  that  worthy  people,  decent  people,  good 
people  were  those  who  saw  their  way  clear  under  all 
circumstances  of  friendship  and  hostility  and  were  pre- 
pared to  strike  and  maintain  a  due  attitude  upon  any 
encounter.  Her  friends  were  those  who  indulged  her 
with  the  forms  of  courtesy  and  consideration;  her  ene- 

226 


FLOWER  0*  THE  PEACH 

mies  those  who  opposed  her  or  were  rude  to  her.  To 
her  friends  she  returned  their  indulgence  in  kind;  her 
enemies  she  pursued  at  each  meeting  and  behind  their 
backs  with  an  implacable  tenacity  of  hate.  One  con- 
ceives that  in  the  case  of  such  lives  as  hers,  only  those 
survive  whose  feebleness  is  supplemented  by  claws. 
Take  away  their  genuine  capacity  for  making  themselves 
disagreeable  at  will,  and  they  would  be  trodden  under 
and  extinguished.  Mrs.  Jakes'  girlhood  was  illuminated 
by  the  example  of  an  aunt,  who  lived  for  fourteen  years 
with  only  a  thin  wall  between  her  and  a  person  with 
whom  she  was  not  on  speaking  terms.  The  aunt  had 
known  her  own  mind  with  such  a  blinding  clearness  that 
she  was  able  to  sit  with  folded  hands,  listening  through 
the  wall  to  the  sounds  of  a  raving  husband  murdering 
her  enemy,  and  no  impulse  to  cry  for  help  had  arisen 
to  dim  the  crystal  of  that  knowledge.  *'She  was  a  bad 
one  at  forgiving,  was  your  Aunt  Mercy,''  Mrs.  Jakes 
had  been  told,  always  with  a  suggestion  in  the  speaker's 
voice  that  there  was  something  admirable  in  such  in- 
flexibility. Primitive  passions,  the  lusts  of  skin-clad  an- 
cestors, fortified  the  anemia  of  the  life  from  which  she 
was  sprung.  Marriage  by  capture  would  have  shocked 
her  deeply,  but  she  would  not  have  been  the  worse 
squaw. 

She  dropped  into  a  desultory  conversation  with  Mr. 
Samson,  with  occasional  side-references  to  Dr.  Jaiies, 
and  managed  at  the  same  time  to  keep  an  eye  on  the  other 
two.  Margaret  had  walked  across  to  Ford,  and  was  sit- 
ting at  his  side  on  the  window-ledge;  he  had  a  three- 
days-old  copy  of  the  Dopfontein  Courant,  in  which  the 
scanty  news  of  the  district  was  printed  in  English  and 
Dutch  and  they  were  looking  it  over  together.    Ford 

227 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

held  the  paper  and  Margaret  leaned  against  his  arm  to 
share  it;  the  intimacy  of  their  attitude  was  disagreeable 
to  Mrs.  'Jakes.  An  alliance  between  the  two  of  them 
would  be  altogether  too  strong  for  her,  and  besides,  it 
was  warfare  as  she  understood  it  to  destroy  the  foe's 
supports  whenever  possible. 

*' Nothing  in  the  rag,  I  suppose.  Ford?"  asked  Mr. 
Samson,  in  his  high,  intolerant  voice. 

**Not  a  thing,"  answered  Ford,  *' unless  you  're  inter- 
ested in  the  price  of  wools." 

** Grease  wool  per  pound,"  suggested  Margaret. 
*' Guess  how  much  that  is,  Mr.  Samson." 

* '  It  ought  to  be  cheap, ' '  said  Mr.  Samson.  *  *  It  sounds 
beastly. ' ' 

''Well,  then,  how  's  this?"  Margaret  craned  across 
Ford's  shoulder  and  read:  *'  'Mr.  Ben  Bongers  of  Tom- 
town,  the  well-known  billiard-marker,  underwent  last 
week  the  sad  experience  of  being  kicked  at  the  hands  of 
Mr.  Jacobus  Van  Dam's  quaai  cock.  Legal  proceedings 
are  pending.'  There  now.  But  does  anybody  know 
what  kicked  him?" 

"Cock  ostrich,"  rumbled  Dr.  Jakes  from  the  back  of 
the  room.    ^' Quaai — that  means  bad-tempered." 

"You  see,"  said  Ford,  "ostriches  are  common  here- 
abouts. They  say  cock  and  ostrich  is  understood.  What 
would  they  call  a  barn-door  cock,  though?" 

' '  A  poultry, ' '  said  Mr.  Samson.  * '  But  we  must  watch 
for  those  legal  proceedings ;  they  ought  to  be  good. ' ' 

Mrs.  Jakes  had  listened  in  silence,  but  now  an  idea 
occurred  to  her. 

"There  's  nothing  about  that  woman  in  Capetown 
this  week?"  she  asked,  and  smiled  meaningly  as  she 
caught  Margaret's  eye. 

228 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

''No,"  said  Ford.  ''I  was  looking  for  that,  but 
there  's  nothing. ' ' 

*'What  woman  was  that?''  inquired  Margaret. 

*'0h,  a  rotten  business.  A  woman  married  a  Kafir 
parson — a  white  woman.  There  's  been  a  bit  of  a  row 
about  it.'' 

*'0h,"  said  Margaret,  understanding  Mrs.  Jakes' 
smile.    *'I  didn't  see  the  paper  last  week." 

She  looked  at  Mrs.  Jakes  with  interest.  Evidently 
the  little  woman  saw  the  matter  of  Kamis,  and  Mar- 
garet's familiar  acquaintance  with  him,  as  a  secret  with 
which  she  could  be  cowed,  a  piece  of  dark  knowledge  that 
would  be  held  against  her  as  a  weapon  of  final  resort. 
The  fact  did  more  than  all  Kamis'  warnings  and  Boy 
Bailey's  threats  to  enlighten  her  as  to  the  African  view 
of  a  white  woman  who  had  relations,  any  relations  but 
those  of  employer  and  servant,  with  a  black  man.  Not 
only  would  a  woman  in  such  a  case  expose  herself  to  the 
brutal  scandal  that  flourishes  in  the  atmosphere  of  bars 
where  Boy  Baileys  frame  the  conventions  that  society 
endorses,  but  she  would  be  damned  in  the  eyes  of  all  the 
Mrs.  Jakes  in  the  country.  They  would  tar  and  feather 
her  with  their  contumely  and  bury  her  beneath  their 
disgust. 

She  returned  Mrs.  Jakes'  smile  till  that  lady  looked 
away  with  a  long-drawn  sniff  of  defiance. 

''But  why  a  row?"  asked  Margaret.  "If  she  was 
satisfied,  what  was  there  to  make  a  row  about?" 

She  really  wanted  to  hear  what  two  sane  and  average 
men  would  adduce  in  support  of  Mrs.  Jakes'  views. 

Old  Mr.  Samson  shook  his  head  rebukingly. 

"Men  and  women  ain't  on  their  own  in  this  world," 
he  said  eeriously.    "They  've  got  to  think  of  the  rest  of 

229 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

the  crowd.  We  're  all  in  the  same  boat  out  here — white 
people  holdin'  up  the  credit  of  the  race.  Can't  afford 
to  have  deserters  goin'  over  to  the  other  camp,  don't  y' 
know.  Even  supposin' — I  say,  supposin' — there  was 
nothing  else  to  prevent  a  white  girl  from  taking  on  a 
nigger,  it 's  lowerin'  the  flag — ^what?" 

'*A  woman  like  that  deserves  to  be  horsewhipped," 
cried  Mrs.  Jakes,  with  sudden  vigor.  * '  To  go  and  marry 
a  Kafir — the  vile  creature." 

**This  is  very  interesting,"  said  Margaret.  **Do  you 
mean  the  Kafir  is  vile,  Mrs.  Jakes,  or  the  woman  ? ' ' 

*'I  mean  both,"  retorted  Mrs.  Jakes.  **In  this  coun- 
try we  know  what  such  creatures  are.  A  respectable 
woman  does  n't  let  a  Kafir  come  near  her  if  she  can  help 
it.  She  never  speaks  to  them  except  to  give  them  their 
orders.  And  as  to — to  marrying  them,  or  being  friendly 
with  them — why,  she  'd  sooner  die." 

Margaret  had  started  a  subject  which  no  South  Af- 
rican can  exhaust.  They  discuss  it  with  heat,  with  phil- 
osophic impartiality,  with  ethnological  and  eugenic  in- 
exactitudes, and  sometimes  with  bloodshed;  but  they 
never  wear  it  out. 

'  *  You  see.  Miss  Harding,  there  are  other  reasons  against 
it, ' '  Mr.  Samson  struck  in  again.  '  *  There  's  the  general 
feelin'  on  the  subject  and  you  can't  ignore  that.  One 
woman  mustn't  do  what  a  million  other  women  feel 
to  be  vile.  It  's  makin'  an  attack  on  decency — that  's 
what  it  comes  to.  A  woman  might  feel  a  call  in  the 
spirit  to  marry  a  monkey.  It  might  suit  her  all  right — 
might  be  the  best  thing  she  could  do,  so  far  as  a  woman 
of  that  sort  was  concerned;  but  it  would n^t  be  playin' 
the  game.    It  would  n  't  be  cricket. ' ' 

He  shook  his  spirited  white  head  with  ft  frown. 
230 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

see/'  said  Margaret.  *'But  there  's  one  other 
point.     I  only  want  to  know,  you  know.'' 

** Naturally,"  agreed  Mr.  Samson.  *'What  's  the 
point?" 

**Well,  there  are  ahout  ten  times  as  many  black  peo- 
ple as  white  in  this  country.  What  about  their  sense  of 
decency?  Doesn't  that  suffer  a  little  by  this — this 
trades-union  of  the  whites?  That  woman  in  Capetown 
has  all  the  whites  against  her  and  all  the  blacks  for  her 
— I  suppose.  There  's  a  majority  in  her  favor,  at  any 
rate." 

**Hold  on,"  cried  Mr.  Samson.  **You  can't  count 
the  Kafirs  like  that,  you  know.  They  're  not  in  it. 
We  're  talking  about  white  people.  The  whole  point  is 
that  Kafirs  are  n  't  whites.  A  white  woman  belongs  to 
her  own  people  and  must  stand  by  their  way  of  lookin' 
at  things.  If  we  take  Kafir  opinion,  we  '11  be  chuckin' 
clothes  next  and  goin'  in  for  polygamy." 

** Would  we?"  said  Margaret.  **I  wonder.  D'you 
think  it  will  come  to  that  when  the  Kafirs  are  all  as  civ- 
ilized as  we  are  and  the  color  line  is  gone?" 

**The  color  line  will  never  go,"  replied  Mr.  Samson, 
solemnly.  **You  might  as  well  talk  of  breakin'  down 
the  line  between  men  and  beasts." 

**Well,  evolution  did  break  it  down,"  said  Margaret. 
**  Think,  Mr.  Samson.  There  will  come  a  day  when  we 
shall  travel  on  flying  machines,  and  all  have  lungs 
like  drums.  We  shall  live  in  cities  of  glazed  brick  be- 
side running  streams  of  disinfectant.  There  will  be  no 
poverty  and  no  crime  and  no  dirt,  and  only  one  language. 
Where  will  the  Kafirs  be  then?  Still  in  huts  on  the 
Karoo  being  kept  in  their  place?" 

'*I  'm  not  a  prophet,"  said  Mr.  Samson.  **I  don't 
231 


FLOWER  0^  THE  PEACH 

know  where  they  '11  be.  It  won't  bother  me  when  that 
time  comes.    I  '11  be  learning  the  harp." 

'*  There  '11  be  a  statue  in  one  of  those  glazed-brick 
cities  to  the  woman  in  Capetown,"  Margaret  went  on. 

*'It  '11  be  inscribed  in  letters  of  gold — *To (whatever 

her  name  was) :  She  felt  the  future  in  her  bones.'  " 

Mr.  Samson  blew  noisily.  *' Evolution  's  not  in  my 
line,"  he  said.  "It  's  all  very  well  to  drag  in  Darwin 
and  all  that  but  black  and  white  don't  mix  and  you  can't 
get  away  from  that." 

''I  should  think  not,  indeed."  Mrs.  Jakes  corrobo- 
rated him  with  a  shrug.  She  had  found  herself  in- 
trigued by  the  glazed-brick  cities,  and  shook  them  from 
her  as  she  remembered  that  she  was  not  ** friends"  with 
their  inventor. 

But  Margaret  was  keen  on  her  theory  and  would  not 
abandon  it  for  a  fly-blown  aphorism. 

"You  'd  never  have  been  satisfied  with  that  woman," 
she  said.  "Supposing  she  hadn't  married  the  Kafir? 
Supposing  that  being  fond  of  him  and  believing  in  him, 
she  had  bowed  down  to  your  terrible  decency  and  not 
married  ?  You  'd  still  have  been  down  on  her  for  liking 
him,  and  she  'd  have  been  persecuted  if  she  spoke  to  him 
or  let  him  be  friendly  with  her.     Isn't  that  so?" 

Mr.  Samson  pursed  his  lips  and  bristled  his  white 
mustache  up  under  his  nose. 

"Yes,"  he  said.  "That  is  so.  I  won't  pretend  I  've 
got  any  use  for  women  who  go  in  for  Kafirs. ' ' 

"Nobody  has."  Mrs.  Jakes  came  in  again  at  the  tail 
of  his  reply  with  all  the  confidence  of  a  faithful  inter- 
preter. 

Margaret,  marking  her  righteous  severity,  had  an  im- 
pulse to  stun  them  both  with  a  full  confession.     She 

232 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

found  in  herself  an  increasing  capacity  for  being  irri- 
tated by  Mrs.  Jakes,  and  had  a  vision  of  her,  flattened 
beyond  recovery,  by  the  revelation.  She  repressed  the 
impulse  because  the  vision  went  on  to  give  her  a  glimpse 
of  the  tragedy  that  would  close  the  matter. 

Ford  had  not  yet  spoken.  He  sat  beside  her,  listen- 
ing. Across  the  room.  Dr.  Jakes  was  listening  also. 
She  put  the  question  to  him. 

'*What  do  you  think,  Br.  Jakes ?'*  she  asked. 

*'Ehr'  He  started  at  the  sound  of  his  name  and 
put  up  an  uncertain  hand  to  straighten  his  spectacles. 

'* About  all  this — about  the  general  principle  of  it?" 
she  particularized. 

**0h,  well.'*  He  hesitated  and  cleared  his  throat. 
There  was  a  fine  clear-cut  idea  floating  somewhere  in 
his  mind,  but  he  could  not  bring  it  into  focus  with  his 
thoughts. 

'*It  's  simply  that — Kafirs  are  Kafirs,"  he  said  dully. 
Mrs.  Jakes  interposed  a  warm,  ^'Certainly,"  and  further 
disordered  him.  He  gave  her  a  long  and  gloomy  look 
and  tried  to  go  on.  **When  they  are — further  ad- 
vanced, that  will  be  the  time  to — to  think  about  inter- 
marriage, and  all  that.  Now — well,  you  can  see  what 
they  are." 

He  wiped  his  forehead  nervously  with  his  handker- 
chief, and  Ford  entered  the  conversation. 

** Jakes  has  got  it,"  he  said.  ** Intermarriage  may 
come — perhaps;  but  at  present  every  marriage  of  a 
white  person  with  a  Kafir  means  a  loss.  It 's  a  sacrifice 
of  a  civilized  unit.  D '  you  see.  Miss  Harding  ?  You  've 
got  to  reckon  not  only  what  that  woman  in  Capetown 
does  but  what  she  doesn't  do  as  well.  She  might  have 
been  the  mother  of  men  and  women.    Well,  now  she  '11 

233 


FLOWER  0^  THE  PEACH 

bear  children  to  be  outcasts.     She  ought  to  have  waited 
a  couple  of  hundred  years.'* 

*' Perhaps  she  was  in  a  hurry,"  answered  Margaret. 
''But  there  's  the  other  question — ^what  if  she  hadn't 
married  ? " 

**0h,"  said  Ford.  **In  point  of  reason  and  all  that, 
she  'd  have  been  right  enough.  But  people  aren't  rea- 
sonable.   Look  at  Samson — and  look  at  me." 

**You  mean — you  've  *no  use'  for  her?" 

**It  's  prejudice,"  he  answered.  **It  's  anything  you 
like.  But  the  plain  fact  is,  I  'd  probably  admire  such 
a  woman  if  I  met  her  in  a  book ;  but  as  flesh  and  blood, 
I  decline  the  introduction.     Does  that  shock  you?" 

**  Margaret  smiled  rather  wryly.  **Yes,"  she  said. 
**It  does,  rather." 

He  turned  towards  her,  humorous  and  whimsical,  but 
at  that  moment  Dr.  Jakes  made  a  movement  doorward 
and  Mrs.  Jakes  began  her  usual  brisk  fire  of  small-talk 
to  cover  his  retreat. 

**I  only  wish  there  was  some  way  we  could  get  the 
papers  regularly — such  a  lot  of  things  seem  to  be  hap- 
pening just  now,"  she  prattled.  *'Some  of  the  papers 
have  cables  from  England  and  they  are  most  interest- 
ing. That  Cape  Times  you  lent  me,  Mr.  Samson — it 
had  the  names  of  the  people  at  the  Drawing-Room. 
Do  you  know,  I  've  often  been  to  see  the  carriages  drive 
up,  and  it  's  just  like  reading  about  old  friends.  There 
was  one  old  lady,  rather  fat,  with  a  mole  on  her  chin, 
who  always  went,  and  once  we  saw  her  drinking  out  of 
a  flask  in  the  carriage.  My  cousin  William — ^William 
Penfold — nicknamed  her  the  Duchess  de  Grundy,  and 
when  we  asked  a  policeman  about  her,  it  turned  out  she 
really  was  a  Duchess.    Wasn't  that  strange?" 

234 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

Mr.  Samson  heard  this  recital  with  unusual  atten- 
tion. 

**A  flask r*  he  asked.  ** Leather-covered  thing,  big 
as  a  quart  bottle  ?  Fat  old  girl  with  an  iron-gray  mus- 
tache?'' 

*'Why,''  cried  Mrs.  Jakes.     *'You  Ve  seen  her  too.*' 

Mr.  Samson  glared  around  him.  **Seen  her,"  he  ex- 
claimed. **Why,  ma  'am,  once — she  would  walk  with 
the  guns,  confound  her — once  I  put  a  charge  of  shot 
into  her.  And  why  I  didn't  give  her  the  other  barrel 
while  I  was  about  it,  I  've  never  been  able  to  imagine. 
Seen  her,  indeed.  I  've  seen  her  bounce  like  a  bally 
india-rubber  ball  with  a  gunful  of  lead  to  help  her 
along.  Used  to  write  to  me,  she  did,  whenever  a  pellet 
came  to  the  surface  and  dropped  out.  I  should  just 
think  I  had  seen  her." 

** Fancy,"  said  Mrs.  Jakes. 

Mr.  Samson  did  not  go  off  forthwith,  as  his  wont  was. 
He  showed  a  certain  dexterity  in  contriving  to  keep 
Margaret  in  the  room  with  himself  till  the  others  had 
gone.  Then  he  closed  the  door  and  stood  against  it, 
smiling  paternally  but  still  with  gallantry. 

**I  wanted  just  a  word  with  you,  if  you  '11  allow  me," 
he  said,  with  a  hand  to  the  point  of  his  trim  mustache. 
He  was  a  beautifully  complete  thing  as  he  stood  with  his 
back  to  the  door,  groomed  to  a  hair,  civilized  to  the  eye- 
brows. He  presented  a  perfected  type  of  the  utterly 
conventionalized,  kindly  and  uncharitable  gentleman  of 
England. 

'*0h,  Mr.  Samson,  this  is  so  sudden,"  said  Mar- 
garet. 

*' What's  that?  Oh,  you  be — ashamed  of  yourself,"  he 
answered.    **Tryin*  to  fascinate  an  old  buffer  like  me. 

235 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

But,  I  say,  Miss  Harding,  I  wish  you  'd  just  let  me  say 
something  I  Ve  got  on  my  mind — and  forgive  before- 
hand anything  that  sounds  like  preaching.  We  old 
crocks — we  've  got  nothing  to  do  but  worry  the  young- 
sters, and  we  have  to  be  indulged — what  ? ' ' 

*'Go  ahead,"  agreed  Margaret.  *'But  if  you  preach 
at  me,  after  shooting  a  duchess, — I'll  scream  for  help. 
What  is  it?" 

**It  's  a  small  matter,"  said  Mr.  Samson.  **I  want 
you  just  to  let  us  go  on  likin'  and  admirin'  you,  without 
afterthought  or  anything  to  spoil  the  effect.  You're 
new  out  here,  and  of  course  you  don 't  know  and  could  n  't 
know;  you  're  too  fresh  and  too  full  of  sweetness  and 
innocence ;  but — ^well,  it  kind  of  jars  to  hear  you  standin' 
up  for  a  woman  like  that  woman  in  Capetown.  You 
mean  a  lot  to  us.  Miss  Harding.  We  have  n't  got  much 
here,  you  know;  we  had  to  leave  what  we  had  and  run 
out  here  for  our  lives — run  like  bally  rabbits  when  a 
terrier  comes  along.  It  'ud  be  a  kindness  if  you 
wouldn't — you  know." 

There  was  no  mistaking  the  kindliness  with  which  he 
smiled  at  her  as  he  spoke.  It  was  another  warning,  but 
conveyed  differently  from  the  others  she  had  received. 
Mr.  Samson  managed  to  make  his  air  of  pleading  for  a 
matter  of  sentiment  convincing. 

'*You — ^you  're  awfully  kind,"  she  said. 

' '  Not  kind, ' '  he  replied.  ' '  Oh  no ;  it  is  n  't  that.  It 's 
what  I  said.  It  's  us  I  'm  thinking  of.  You  've  no  idea 
of  what  you  stand  for.  You  're  home,  and  afternoons 
when  one  meets  pretty  girls  who  are  all  goin'  to  marry 
some  bally  cub,  and  restaurants  full  of  nice  women  with 
jolly  shoulders,  and  fields  with  tailor-made  girls  runnin' 
away  from  cows.    You  're  the  whole  show.    But  if  you 

236 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

start  educatin'  us,  though  we  're  an  ignorant  lot,  we  lose 
all  that.'' 

He  looked  at  her  with  a  trace  of  anxiety. 

''It  's  cheek,  I  know,  puttin'  it  to  you  like  this,"  he 
added.  ''But  I  'm  relyin'  on  your  being  a  sportsman, 
Miss  Harding." 

"  It  is  n  't  cheek, ' '  Margaret  answered.  "  It 's  awfully 
good  of  you.  I — I  see  what  you  mean,  and  I  should  be 
sorry  if  I — well,  failed  you. ' ' 

He  stood  aside  from  the  door  at  once,  throwing  it  open 
as  he  did  so. 

' '  Sportsman  to  the  bone, ' '  he  said.  ' '  Bless  your  heart, 
did  n't  I  know  it.  Though  I  couldn't  have  blamed  you 
if  you  'd  kicked  at  all  this  pow-wow  from  a  venerable 
ruin  old  enough  to  be  your  grandfather." 

Hand  to  mustache,  crooked  elbow  cocked  well  up, 
brows  down  over  bold  eyes,  the  venerable  ruin  chal- 
lenged the  title  he  gave  himself.  Margaret  found 
his  simple  and  comely  tricks  of  posture  and  ex- 
pression touching;  he  played  his  little  game  of  pose  so 
harmlessly  and  faithfully.  She  stopped  in  front  of  him 
as  she  walked  to  the  door. 

"If  you  '11  shut  your  eyes  and  keep  quite  still,  I  '11 
give  you  something, ' '  she  offered. 

"Ha!"  snorted  Mr.  Samson  zestfully. 

He  closed  his  eyes  and  stood  to  attention,  smiling. 
The  lids  of  his  eyes  were  flattened  and  seamed  with  blue 
veins,  and  they  gave  him,  as  he  waited  unmoving,  some 
of  the  unreality  and  remoteness  of  a  corpse.  He  looked 
like  a  man  who  had  died  suddenly  while  proposing  a 
loyal  toast  or  paying  a  compliment,  who  carries  his  gen- 
ial purpose  with  him  into  the  dark  and  leaves  only  the 
shell  of  it  behind. 

237 


FLOWER  0*  THE  PEACH 

Margaret  put  a  light  hand  on  his  trim  gray  shoulder 
and  rising  on  tiptoe  touched  him  with  her  lips  between 
the  eyes.  Then  she  turned  and  went  out,  unhurrying, 
and  Mr.  Samson  still  stood  to  attention  with  closed  eyes 
till  the  sound  of  her  feet  was  clear  of  the  stone-flagged 
hall  and  had  passed  out  to  the  stoep. 

She  did  not  go  at  once  to  the  spot  where  a  square  stone 
pillar  screened  Ford's  easel,  as  her  custom  was.  She 
came  to  rest  at  the  side  of  the  steps  and  stood  thought- 
fully looking  out  to  the  veld,  where  the  brown  showed 
hints  of  gold  as  the  sun  went  westward.  It  hung  now, 
very  great  and  blinding,  above  the  brim  of  the  earth,  and 
bathed  her  with  steep  rays  that  riddled  the  recesses  of  the 
stoep  with  their  radiant  artillery.  To  one  hand,  a  road 
came  from  the  horizon  and  passed  to  the  opposite  hori- 
zon on  the  other  hand,  linking  unseen  and  unheard-of 
stopping-places  across  the  gulf  of  that  emptiness. 

''What  has  all  this  got  to  do  with  me?"  was  her 
thought,  as  her  eyes  traveled  over  the  flat  and  unprofit- 
able breast  of  land,  whose  f eaturelessness  seemed  to  defy 
her  even  to  fasten  it  in  her  memory.  She  recollected 
Ford's  saying  that  she  was  a  bird  of  passage,  with  all 
this  but  a  stage  in  her  flight  from  sickness  to  health. 
Her  starting  and  halting  points  were  far  from  Karoo; 
she  touched  it  only  as  the  dust  that  moves  upon  it  when 
a  chance  wind  raises  fantastic  spirals  and  drives  them 
swaying  and  zigzagging  till  they  break  and  are  gone. 
Nothing  that  she  did  could  be  permanent  here ;  her  pains 
would  be  spent  in  vain.  Even  the  martyrdom  that  had 
been  held  up  to  her  for  a  warning — even  that,  if  she 
accepted  it,  would  be  ineffectual,  the  **  sacrifice  of  a  civ- 
ilized unit.'' 

Along  the  stoep,  Ford's  leg  protruded  from  behind  the 
238 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

pillar  as  he  sat  widely  asprawl  on  his  camp-stool;  the 
heel  of  the  white  canvas  shoe  was  on  the  flags  and  the 
toe  cocked  up  energetically.  He  found  things  simple 
enough,  reflected  Margaret;  as  simple  as  Mrs.  Jakes 
found  them.  Where  knowledge  and  reason  failed  him, 
he  availed  himself  frankly  of  prejudices  and  dealt  hon- 
estly with  his  instincts.  He  permitted  himself  the  indul- 
gence of  plain  dislikings  and  was  not  concerned  to  jus- 
tify or  excuse  them.  It  was  possible  to  conceive  him 
wrong,  irrational,  perverse,  but  never  inconsistent  or 
embarrassed.  In  the  drawing-room  he  had  spoken 
lightly,  but  Margaret  knew  the  steadfastness  of  mind 
that  was  behind  the  trivial  manner  of  speech.  Well,  he 
would  have  to  be  told,  sooner  or  later,  of  the  secret  she 
shared  with  the  veld.  That  confession  was  pressing  it- 
self upon  her.  With  Mrs.  Jakes  and  Boy  Bailey  already 
privy  to  it^  it  could  not  be  withheld  much  longer.  She 
stood,  gazing  at  the  outstretched  leg,  and  tried  to  fore- 
see his  reception  of  the  news. 

**Well,'*  said  Ford,  looking  up  absently  when  pres- 
ently she  walked  down  to  him.  * '  Did  Samson  crush  you 
or  did  you  crush  him?'' 

**It  was  a  draw,"  answered  Margaret.  **He  's  a  dear 
old  thing,  though.  And  what  a  guarantee  of  good  faith 
to  be  able  to  cap  a  duchess  story  like  that.  Wasn't  it 
good?" 

'*  Rotten  shooting,  though,"  said  Ford.  '*He 
wouldn't  have  admitted  he  'd  peppered  a  commoner." 

**You 're  jealous,"  retorted  Margaret.  ''Mr.  Sam- 
son 's  quite  all  right,  and  I  won't  have  him  sneered  at 
after  he  's  been  paying  me  compliments." 

'*Once  I  hit  an  Honorable  with  a  tennis  racket.  It 
slipped  out  of  my  hand  just  as  I  was  taking  a  fearful 

239 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

smack  at  a  high  one  and  hit  him  like  a  boomerang.     So 
I  'm  not  as  jealous  as  you  might  think/' 

**One  can't  throw  a  tennis  racket  without  hitting  an 
Honorable  nowadays.  That  's  nothing,"  said  Margaret. 
**And  you  're  just  an  ordinary  person,  anyhow.  Mr. 
Samson,  now — ^he  's  not  only  a  gentleman,  but  he  looks 
like  it  and  sounds  like  it,  and  you  could  tell  him  with  a 
telescope  twenty  miles  off  for  the  real  thing. ' ' 

"Ye-es."  Ford  drew  a  leisurely  thumb  across  the 
foreground  of  his  picture  and  surveyed  the  result  with 
his  head  on  one  side.  '*You  know,"  he  went  on,  knead- 
ing reflectively  at  the  sticky  masses  of  paint,  *'some  of 
that  's  true.  He  does  sound  exactly  like  it.  If  you 
wanted  to  know  the  broad  general  view  of  the  class  that 
he  represents,  and  all  the  other  classes  that  take  a  pattern 
from  it,  you  'd  be  fairly  safe  in  asking  Samson.  Those 
dashing  men  of  the  world,  you  know — they  're  all  for  the 
domestic  virtues  and  loyalty  and  fair  play.  If  you  find 
fault  with  gambling  and  drinking  and  cursing,  they  say 
you  've  got  the  Nonconformist  Conscience.  But  when 
they  stand  for  a  principle,  they  've  got  the  consciences 
of  Sunday  School  pupil-teachers.  Samson's  ideal  of 
England  is  a  nation  of  virtuous  women  and  honest  men, 
large  families,  Sunday  observance,  and  no  damned 
French  kickshaws.  For  that,  he  'd  go  to  the  stake  smil- 
ing." 

''Well,"  said  Margaret,  ''why  not?" 

' '  Oh,  I  'm  not  saying  anything  against  him, ' '  answered 
Ford.  "I  'm  telling  you  what  he  stands  for  and  how 
far  he  counts  when  he  turns  on  the  oracle." 

"You  mean  that  Kafir  business,  of  course?" 

"Yes,"  said  Ford.    "That  's  what  I  mean." 
240 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

'*I  gathered/'  said  Margaret  slowly,  'Hhat  you  agreed 
with  him  about  that.'' 

He  was  still  at  work  with  his  colors  and  did  not  raise 
his  head  as  he  answered. 

**Not  a  bit  of  it.  I  don't  agree  with  him  at  all.  He 
talks  absolute  drivel  as  soon  as  he  begins  to  argue." 

"But,"  began  Margaret. 

''I  say  I  don't  agree  with  him,"  continued  Ford; 
''but  that  's  not  to  say  I  don't  feel  just  the  same.  As  a 
matter  of  fact  I  do." 

"Oh,  you  're  too  subtle,"  said  Margaret  impatiently. 

"That  's  not  subtle,"  said  Ford imperturbably.  "You 
were  sounding  us  all  inside  there  and  you  got  eloquence 
from  old  Samson  and  a  shot  in  the  dark  from  Jakes  and 
thunder  and  lightning  from  Mrs.  Jakes.  Now,  if  you 
listen,  you  '11  get  the  real  thing  from  me.  As  you  said, 
I  'm  just  an  ordinary  person.  Well,  the  ordinary  per- 
son knows  all  right  that  a  matter  of  tar-brush  in  the 
complexion  doesn't  make  such  a  mighty  difference  in 
two  human  beings.  He  sees  they  're  both  bustling  along 
to  be  dead  and  done  with  it  as  soon  as  possible,  and  that 
they  '11  turn  into  just  the  same  kind  of  earth  and  take 
their  chance  of  the  same  immortality  or  annihilation — 
as  the  case  may  be.  He  sees  all  right ;  he  even  sees  a  sort 
of  romance  and  beauty  in  it,  and  makes  it  welcome  when 
it  doesn't  suggest  the  real  thing  too  clearly.  But  all 
that  doesn't  prevent  him  from  barring  niggers  utterly 
in  his  own  concerns.  It  doesn't  stop  his  flesh  from 
creeping  when  he  reads  of  the  woman  in  Capetown,  and 
imagines  her  sitting  on  the  Kafir 's  knee.  And  it  does  n  't 
hinder  him  from  looking  the  other  way  when  he  meets 
her  in  the  street.  It  isn't  reason,  I  know.  It  isn't 
16  241 


FLOWER  0^  THE  PEACH 

sense.  It  is  n't  human  charity.  But  it  is  a  thing  that 's 
rooted  in  him  like  his  natural  cowardice  and  his  bodily 
appetites.     Is  that  at  all  clear?'' 

Margaret  did  not  answer  at  once.  She  seemed  to  be 
looking  at  the  canvas. 

**Yes,"  she  said  finally.  *'It  's  clear  enough.  But 
tell  me — is  that  you  ?  I  mean,  were  you  describing  your 
own  feelings  about  it?" 

**Yes,"  he  said. 

**You  and  I  are  going  to  quarrel  before  long,"  Mar- 
garet answered.  **We  '11  have  to.  You  won't  be  able 
to  help  yourself." 

* '  Oh, "  said  Ford.     ' '  Why  's  that  ? ' ' 

** Because  you  're  such  an  ordinary  person,"  retorted 
Margaret. 

He  lifted  his  head  at  the  tone  of  her  voice,  but  further 
talk  was  arrested  by  the  sight  of  a  man  on  horseback 
coming  across  from  the  road  towards  them.  Both  rec- 
ognized Christian  du  Preez.  They  saw  him  at  the  mo- 
^ment  that  he  switched  his  cantering  pony  round  towards 
the  house,  and  came  swiftly  over  the  grass.  He  had  his 
rifle  slung  upon  his  back  by  a  sling  across  the  chest,  and 
he  reined  up  short  immediately  below  them,  so  that  he 
remained  with  his  face  just  above,  the  rail  of  the  stoep. 

'^Daag/'  he  said  awkwardly. 

** Afternoon,"  replied  Ford.  *'Are  you  painted  for 
war,  or  what,  with  that  gun  of  yours?" 

The  Boer,  checking  his  fretting  pony  with  heel  and 
hand,  gave  him  a  bewildered  look.  The  dust  was  thick 
in  his  beard,  as  from  long  traveling,  and  lay  in  damp 
streaks  in  each  furrow  of  his  thin  face.  The  faint,  acrid 
smell  of  sweating  man  and  horse  lingered  about  him. 
He  moistened  his  lips  before  he  could  speak  further, 

242 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

**My  wife  is  gone  out,"  he  said,  speaking  as  though 
he  restrained  many  eager  words.  *'I  must  speak  to  her 
at  once.     She  is  not  here — not?'' 

**I  don't  think  so,"  said  Ford. 

Margaret  was  more  certain.  "Mrs.  du  Preez  hasn't 
been  here  this  afternoon,"  she  assured  the  Boer. 
** There  's  nothing  wrong,  I  hope." 

Christian  looked  from  one  to  the  other  as  they  an- 
swered with  quick  nervous  eyes. 

**No,"  he  said.  **But  it  is  something — I  must  speak 
to  her.     She  is  not  here,  then?" 

They  answered  him  again,  wondering  somewhat  at  his 
strangeness.  He  tried  to  smile  at  them  but  bit  his  lip 
instead. 

**Well— "  he  hesitated. 

**I  will  fetch  Mrs.  Jakes  if  you  like,"  said  Margaret. 
**But  I  'm  quite  sure  Mrs.  duPreez  hasn't  been  here." 

*'No,"  he  said  forlornly.  "Thank  you.  Good-by, 
Miss  Harding." 

The  pony  leaped  under  the  spur,  and  they  saw  him 
gallop  back  to  the  road  and  across  it  towards  the  farm. 

"Queer,"  said  Ford.  "Did  you  notice  how  humble 
he  was  while  his  eyes  looked  like  murder?" 

But  Margaret  had  been  struck  by  something  else. 

"I  thought  he  looked  like  Mrs.  Jakes,"  she  said, 
**when  I  answer  her  back." 


243 


CHAPTER  XIII 

IT  was  Kamis,  the  Kafir,  ranging  upon  one  of  his 
solitary  quests,  who  came  upon  them  in  the  late 
afternoon,  arriving  unseen  out  of  the  heat-haze  and  ap- 
pearing before  them  as  incomprehensibly  as  though  he 
had  risen  out  of  the  ground. 

Mrs.  du  Preez  had  groaned  and  sat  down  for  the 
fourth  or  fifth  time  in  three  miles  and  Mr.  Bailey's  pa- 
tience was  running  dry.  For  himself,  the  trudge 
through  the  oppression  of  the  sun  was  not  a  new  experi- 
ence; he  was  inured  to  its  discomforts  and  pains  by 
many  years  of  use  while  he  had  been  a  pilgrim  from  door 
to  distant  door  of  the  charitable  and  credulous,  and  he 
had  gathered  a  certain  adeptness  in  the  arts  of  the  trek. 
He  had  set  a  good  lively  pace  for  this  journey,  partly  be- 
cause a  single  vigorous  stage  would  see  them  at  the  rail- 
way line,  but  also  because  he  sincerely  believed  in  Chris- 
tian du  Preez 's  willingness  to  shoot  him,  and  was 
concerned  to  be  beyond  the  range  of  that  vengeance. 
Therefore,  at  this  halt,  he  turned  and  swore. 

Mrs.  du  Preez  fanned  herself  feebly  with  one  hand 
while  the  other  still  held  the  little  bundle  that  contained 
her  money. 

'  *  I  can 't  help  it,  Bailey, ' '  she  said  painfully.  *  *  I  mus ' 
have  a  rest.     I  'm  done." 

**Done."  He  spat.  **Bet  I  could  make  you  walk  if 
I  started.    Are  you  goin' to  come  on!" 

Shs  shook  her  head  slowly,  with  closed  eyes. 
244 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 


({■ 


I  can't/'  she  said.  ''I  mus'  jus'— have  a  sit  down, 
Bailey." 

Her  elaborate  hat  nodded  drunkenly  on  her  head,  and 
all  the  dust  of  the  long  road  could  not  make  her  clothes 
at  home  in  the  center  of  the  wide  circle  of  dumb  and 
forsaken  land  in  which  she  sat,  surrendered  to  her  weari- 
ness, but  never  relaxing  her  hold  on  her  money.  Not 
once  since  their  setting  out  had  she  loosed  her  grip  on 
that,  save  when  she  changed  the  burden  of  it  from  one 
hand  to  the  other.  Her  faith  was  in  the  worth  and 
power  of  that  double  handful  of  sovereigns,  and  she 
would  have  felt  poorer  on  a  desert  island  by  the  loss  of 
a  single  one  of  them. 

'*I  've  been  patient  with  you,"  Boy  Bailey  said,  look- 
ing at  her  fixedly.  **I  've  been  very  patient  with  you. 
But  it  's  about  time  there  was  an  end  of  this  two-steps- 
and-a-squat  business.  There  's  no  knowing  what  minute 
that  husband  of  yours  might  come  ridin'  up  with  his 
gun." 

**I  '11  be — all  right — soon,"  she  said.  **Give  me  a 
half  hour,  Bailey." 

**Take  your  own  time,"  he  replied.  **Take  all  the 
time  there  is.     Only — I  'm  goin'  on." 

She  opened  her  eyes  at  that  and  blinked  at  him  in  an 
effort  to  see  him  through  the  hot  mist  that  stood  before 
them. 

**  Goin '—to  leave  me?" 

' '  Yes, ' '  he  said.    ' '  What  d '  you  think  ? ' ' 

Her  look,  her  parted  lips  and  all  her  accusing  help- 
lessness were  before  his  eyes;  he  looked  past  them  and 
shuffled.     To  the  weak  man,  weakness  is  horrible. 

**I  warned  you  about  comin',"  he  said,  seeking  the 
support  of  reasonable  words  as  such  men  do.    **You  've 

245 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

got  yourself  to  blame,  and  I  don 't  see  why  I  should  stop 
here  to  be  shot  by  a  man  that  grudged  me  a  bite  and  a 
bed.     It  is  n  't  as  if  I  'd  asked  you  to  come. ' ' 

**I  '11  be  better  soon,"  was  all  she  could  say,  still  hold- 
ing him  with  that  look  of  a  wounded  animal,  the  reproach 
that  neither  threatens  nor  defies  and  is  beyond  all  an- 
swer. 

** Better  soon,"  he  grumbled  scornfully,  and  fidgeted. 
Her  hand  never  left  the  little  bundle.  Would  she  strug- 
gle much,  he  was  thinking.  He  could  take  it  from  her, 
of  course,  but  he  did  n  't  want  her  to  scream,  even  in  that 
earless  solitude.  The  thought  of  her  screams  made  him 
uneasy.  She  might  go  on  crying  out  even  when  he  had 
torn  the  bundle  from  her  and  the  cries  would  follow  at 
his  back  as  he  carried  it  off,  and  he  would  know  that  she 
was  still  crying  when  he  had  passed  out  of  hearing. 

Still — a  kick,  perhaps.  Boy  Bailey  looked  at  her 
bowed  body  and  at  the  toe  of  his  shoe.  He  began  to 
breathe  short  and  to  tremble.  It  was  necessary  to  wait 
a  moment  and  let  energy  accumulate  for  the  deed. 

*' Don't — go  off,"  gasped  Mrs.  du  Preez,  with  her  face 
bent  over  her  knees,  and  Bailey  relaxed.  The  words 
had  snapped  the  tension  of  his  resolve,  and  it  would  have 
to  be  keyed  up  again. 

*  *  Give  me  that  bundle, ' '  he  said  hoarsely.  * '  Give  it  to 
me,  or  else — " 

She  sat  up  with  an  effort  and  he  stopped  in  the  middle 
of  his  threat.  He  was  pale  now  and  trembling  strongly. 
She  drew  the  bundle  closer  to  her  defensively. 

**No,"  she  answered.     *'I  won't." 

''Give  it  here,"  he  croaked,  from  a  dry  throat. 
Come  on— God!     I'll—" 

The  moment  of  resolution  had  come  to  him,  and  for 
246 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

the  instant  he  was  fit  and  strong  enough  to  do  murder. 
He  plunged  forward  with  his  lower  lip  sucked  in  and 
his  ragged  teeth  showing  in  a  line  above  his  chin,  and 
all  his  loose  and  fearful  face  contorted  into  a  maniac 
rage.  The  woman  fell  over  sideways  with  a  strident 
cry,  her  bundle  hugged  to  her  breast.  Boy  Bailey 
gasped  and  flung  back  his  foot  for  the  swinging  kick  that 
would  save  him  from  the  noise  of  her  complainings. 

He  kicked,  blind  to  all  but  the  woman  on  the  ground, 
alone  with  her  in  a  narrow  theater  of  bestial  purpose 
and  sweating  terrors.  He  neither  heard  nor  saw  the 
quick  spring  of  the  waiting  Kafir,  who  charged  him 
with  a  shoulder,  football  fashion,  while  the  kick  still 
traveled  in  the  air  and  pitched  him  aside  to  fall  brutally 
on  his  ear  and  elbow.  He  tumbled  and  slid  upon  the 
dust  with  the  unresisting  lifelessness  of  a  sack  of  flour 
and  lay,  making  noises  in  his  throat  and  moving  his 
head  feebly,  till  the  world  grew  visible  again  and  he 
could  see. 

The  Kafir  stood  above  Mrs.  du  Preez,  who  lay  where 
she  had  thrown  herself,  and  stared  up  at  him  with  eyes 
in  which  the  understanding  was  stagnant. 

** Don't  be  frightened,''  he  said.  *'I  know  who  you 
are.     I  '11  take  you  safely  where  you  want  to  go." 

He  spoke  in  tones  as  matter-of-fact  as  he  could  make 
them,  for  his  professional  eye  told  him  that  the  woman 
was  at  the  limit  of  her  endurance  and  could  support 
no  further  surprises.  But  he  took  in  the  pretentious 
style  of  her  dress  with  the  dust  upon  it  and  the  fact 
that  she  was  in  company  with  the  tramp  upon  a  path 
that  led  to  the  railway  and  wondered  darkly.  It  was 
almost  inconceivable,  in  spite  of  the  situation  in  which 
he  found  her,  that  she  could  be  running  away  from  her 

247 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

husband  in  favor  of  the  creature  who  now  lay  in  the 
road,  moving  his  limbs  tentatively  and  watching  with 
furtive  eyes  to  see  if  it  was  safe  to  sit  up. 

Mrs.  du  Preez  moistened  her  lips.  * '  I  got  nowhere  to 
go,  now, ' '  she  said. 

**Then  you  'd  better  go  home,^'  said  Kamis.  **Rest 
a  little  first — there  's  plenty  of  time,  and  it  '11  be  cooler 
presently.     Then  I  '11  take  you  back." 

He  turned  to  look  over  his  shabby  tweed  shoulder  at 
Boy  Bailey  and  addressed  him  curtly. 

**You  can  go  now,"  he  said. 

Boy  Bailey  sat  up  awkwardly,  with  an  expression  of 
pain,  as  though  it  hurt  him  to  move.  He  had  not  yet 
mastered  the  change  in  the  state  of  affairs  and  at- 
tempted to  temporize  till  matters  should  define  them- 
selves. 

*'I  've  got  to  see  first  if  I  can  stand,"  he  said.  **It  's 
all  very  well,  but  you  can't  slam  a  man  down  on  his 
funny-bone  and  then  order  him  to  do  the  goose-step." 

*' Hurry,"  said  the  Kafir. 

Mr.  Bailey  passed  an  exploring  hand  about  his 
shoulder.  **Ouch!"  He  winced.  *' Broken  bone,"  he 
explained.  *^You  say  you  're  a  doctor — see  for  your- 
self. And  anyhow,  I  want  a  word  in  private  with  the 
lady." 

Kamis  took  two  deliberate  steps  in  his  direction 
and — 

**Hey!"  yelled  Boy  Bailey,  and  scrambled  to  his 
feet.  **What  d'you  kick  me  like  that  for,  you  black 
swine  ? ' ' 

He  backed  before  the  Kafir,  with  spread  hands  in 
agitated  protestation. 

**Kickin'  a  man  when  he  's  down,"  he  cried.  **Is 
248 


FLOWER  0^  THE  PEACH 

that  a  game  to  play?  All  right,  all  right j  I  'm  goin', 
aren't  I?  You  keep  where  you  are  and  let  me  turn 
round.  No,  you  stop  first.  I  'm  not  goin'  to  be  kicked 
again  like  that  if  I  can  help  it." 

Kamis  came  to  a  halt. 

*'Next  time  I  see  you,  I  '11  murder  you,''  he  prom- 
ised. *' Murder  you."  He  paused  at  Mr.  Bailey's 
endeavor  to  save  his  dignity  with  a  sneer.  ** Don't  you 
believe  that?"  he  asked.  ''Say — don't  you  believe  I  '11 
do  it?" 

Mr.  Bailey's  sneer  failed  as  he  looked  into  the  black 
face  that  confronted  him.  By  degrees  the  sheer  sinis- 
ter power  that  inhabited  it,  lighting  it  up  and  making 
it  imminently  terrible  with  its  patent  willingness  to 
kill,  burned  its  way  to  his  slow  intelligence.  His  pendu- 
lous underlip  quivered. 

''Don't  you?"  repeated  the  Kafir,  with  a  motion  of 
his  shoulders  like  a  shrug.  "Don't  you  believe  I  '11 
slaughter  you  like  a  pig  next  time  I  see  you?  Answer 
— don't  you  believe  it?" 

"Ye-es,"  stammered  Boy  Bailey. 

The  Kafir's  deliberate  nod  was  indescribably  mena- 
cing. 

"That's  right,"  he  said.  "It's  very  true  indeed. 
And  you  remember  what  I  paid  you  fifty  pounds  for, 
too.  A  word  about  that,  Bailey,  and  I  '11  have  you. 
Now  go." 

A  hundred  paces  off,  Boy  Bailey  halted,  to  get  breath 
and  ideas,  and  stood  looking  back. 

He  waited,  watching  the  Kafir  bring  Mrs.  du  Preez  to 
a  condition  in  which  she  could  stand  again  and  bear  the 
view  of  the  backward  road  coiling  forth  to  the  feature- 
less skyline,  and  thence  to  further  and  still  featureless 

249 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

skylines,  traversing  intolerably  far  vistas  that  gave  no 
sign  of  a  destination.  With  his  returning  wits,  he 
found  himself  wondering  what  arguments  the  man  had 
to  induce  her  to  brave  her  husband. 

As  it  happened,  there  was  need  of  none.  The  woman 
was  broken  and  beyond  thought.  She  was  reduced  to 
instincts.  The  homing  sense  that  sets  a  wounded  rock- 
rabbit  of  the  kranzes  crawling  in  agony  to  die  in  its 
burrow  moved  in  her  dimly ;  she  could  not  even  summon 
force  to  wonder  at  the  apparition  of  the  English- 
speaking,  helpful  Kafir.  Under  the  practised  deftness 
of  his  suggestion  and  persuasion  she  rose  and  put  her 
limp  arm  in  his,  and  they  moved  away  together,  follow- 
ing their  long  shadows  that  went  before  them,  gliding 
upon  the  dust. 

** There  they  go,''  said  Mr.  Bailey  bitterly.  *' There 
they  go.    And  what  about  me  .^'^ 

He  saw  that  the  Kafir  propped  the  exhausted  woman 
with  his  arm  and  helped  her.  He  was  protecting  and 
assured,  a  strength  and  a  shield.  Almost  unconsciously 
Boy  Bailey  followed  after  them.  He  could  not  have 
given  a  reason  for  doing  so;  he  only  knew  that  he  was 
very  unwilling  to  be  left  alone  with  his  bruises  and  his 
sense  of  failure  and  defeat.  In  less  than  a  quarter  of 
an  hour,  the  veld  that  had  been  comfortingly  empty 
had  become  lonely.  He  went  on  tiptoe,  with  long  un- 
gainly strides  and  much  precaution  to  be  unheard. 

He  followed  perhaps  for  half  a  mile  and  then  the 
Kafir  looked  back  and  saw  him.  Mr.  Bailey  stopped 
within  speaking  distance. 

**I  was  coming  to  apologize,"  he  called.  *'That 's 
all.    I  lost  my  temper  and  I  want  to  apologize. ' ' 

The  Kafir  let  Mrs.  du  Preez  sit  down  and  came 
250 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

walking  back  slowly.  When  half  the  distance  to  Mr. 
Bailey  was  covered  he  broke  suddenly  into  a  run.  For 
some  seconds  Mr.  Bailey  abode,  his  mind  racing,  and 
then  he  too  turned  and  ran  as  he  had  never  run  before. 
With  fists  clenched  and  head  back,  he  faced  the  west 
and  fled  in  leaps,  and  as  he  went  he  emitted  small 
squeals  and  fragments  of  speech. 

*'My  mistake,''  he  would  utter,  through  failing 
breath.  **As  long  as  I  live,  I  '11  never — I  swear  it — 
I  swear  it.     0-o-oh.     You  're  very — hard — on  me." 

The  Kafir  had  ceased  to  run  when  Mr.  Bailey 
turned  to  flee.  He  stood  and  watched  him  go,  un- 
pursued  and  terrified,  with  the  dust  spirting  under 
his  feet  like  the  smoke  of  a  powder-train.  Then  he 
went  back  and  aided  Mrs.  du  Preez  to  rise  and  together 
they  set  out  again. 

The  last  of  Boy  Bailey  was  a  black  blot  against  the 
sky;  he  was  too  far  off  for  Kamis  to  see  whether  he 
still  ran  or  stood.  It  merely  testified  that  a  degener- 
ate human  frame  will  stand  blows  and  much  emotion 
and  effort  under  a  hot  sun  and  yet  hold  safe  for  fur- 
ther evil  the  life  within  it.  Man  of  all  animals  is  the 
most  tenacious  of  his  existence;  he  lives  not  for  food 
but  for  appetite.  What  was  assured  was  that  the  far 
blot  that  represented  Boy  Bailey  was  still  avid  and  still 
unsatisfied.  He  had  not  even  gratified  his  last  desire 
to  apologize. 

The  sun  dawdled  over  the  final  splendid  ceremony 
of  his  setting,  drawing  out  the  pomp  of  departure  while 
night  waited  in  the  east  for  his  going  with  pale  pre- 
mature stars.  The  small  wind  that  clears  the  earth 
of  the  sun's  leavings  of  heat  sighed  about  them,  and 
produced  from  each  side  of  their  path  a  faint  rustle  as 

251 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

though  it  stirred  trees  at  a  little  distance.  Above 
them  the  sky  began  to  light  up  with  a  luminous  pow- 
der of  stars,  that  strained  into  radiant  clearness  before 
the  west  was  empty  of  its  last  pink  stain.  They  went 
slowly,  Mrs.  du  Preez  leaning  heavily  on  Kamis'  arm, 
and  still  faithfully  carrying  her  bundle.  She  had  not 
spoken  since  they  started.  She  went  with  her  eyes  on 
the  ground,  and  unequal  steps,  till  the  evening  breeze 
touched  her  and  she  lifted  her  face  to  its  gentle  re- 
freshment. 

She  had  to  sit  down  every  little  while,  but  she  was 
stronger  after  the  setting  of  the  sun,  and  it  was  not 
till  the  night  had  surrounded  them  that  she  spoke. 

^'When  I  saw  you  first,"  she  said  suddenly,  ''the  sun 
was  in  my  eyes.     And  I  thought  you  was — hlachf" 

**Yes?"  said  Kamis.  ''That  wasn't  the  sun,"  he 
said  slowly.     *'I  am  black." 

"But — "  she  hesitated.  "I  don't  mean  just  black," 
she  said  vaguely.     "I  meant — a  black  man,  a  nigger." 

She  was  peering  up  at  him  anxiously,  while  her 
weight  rested  in  his  arm. 

"Well,  wouldn't  you  have  let  a  nigger  help  you?" 
asked  Kamis  quietly.  "Isn't  it  a  nigger's  business, 
when  he  sees  a  white  woman  in  trouble,  to  do  what  he 
can  for  her?  One  of  your  farm  niggers,  now — 
wouldn't  you  have  called  to  him  if  he  'd  been  there?" 

"Yes,"  fretfully.  "But  I  thought  you  was  a 
nigger." 

"I  'm  a  doctor,"  said  Kamis.  "I  was  at  schools  and 
colleges  in  England.  The  English  Government  gives 
me  hundreds  of  pounds  a  year.  You  're  quite  safe  with 
me." 

252 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

'*It  was  the  sun  in  my  eyes/'  she  murmured  uncer- 
tainly.    *  *  I  said  it  was  the  sun. ' ' 

**No,  it  wasn't  the  sun,"  he  said.  **You  saw  quite 
well.    I  am  a  nigger." 

''How  can  a  doctor  be  a  nigger?"  she  asked.  ''Nig- 
gers— ^why,  I  know  all  about  niggers.  You  can't  fool 
me." 

**I  won't  try,"  answered  Kamis.  ''But — one  thing; 
you  've  got  to  get  home,  haven't  you?  And  you  can't 
do  it  alone.  You  wouldn't  refuse  to  let  a  nigger  help 
you  to  walk,  would  you  ? ' ' 

"No,"  she  said  wonderingly.  "I  got  to  get  home. 
I  got  to." 

"All  right,"  said  Eamis.  "Then  look  here.  Take 
a  good  look  and  satisfy  yourself.  There  's  no  sun  now 
to  get  in  your  eyes. ' ' 

He  had  halted  and  drawn  his  arm  from  hers.  A 
match  crackled  and  its  flame  showed  him  to  her,  illum- 
inating his  negro  features,  and  her  drawn  face,  frown- 
ing in  an  effort  to  comprehend.  He  held  it  till  it 
burned  to  his  fingers  and  then  dropped  it,  and  the  dark- 
ness fell  between  them  again  like  a  curtain. 

"Now  do  you  see?"  he  asked.  "A  Kafir  like  any 
other,  flat  nose,  big  lips,  woolly  hair,  everything — just 
plain  Kafir ;  but  a  doctor  none  the  less.  The  Kafir  will 
help  you  to  walk  and  the  doctor  will  see  to  you  if  you 
find  by  and  by  that  you  can't  walk  any  further.  Will 
that  satisfy  you?" 

She  did  not  answer  immediately;  she  stood  as  though 
she  were  still  trying  to  scan  the  face  which  the  match 
flame  had  revealed.  She  was  searching  for  a  formula, 
he  told  himself  with  a  momentary  bitterness,   which 

253 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

would  save  her  white-skinned  dignity  and  yet  permit 
her  to  avail  herself  of  his  services. 

Then  her  moving  hand  touched  him  on  the  arm, 
gently  and  unexpectedly,  and  she  answered. 

**You  poor  devil,''  she  said.    **You  poor  devil.'* 

Kamis  stood  quite  still,  her  timid  touch  upon  him, 
the  ready  pity  of  her  voice  in  his  ears.  Mingled  with 
his  surprise  he  felt  a  sense  of  abasement  in  the  presence 
of  this  other  outcast,  so  much  weaker  than  he,  and  he 
could  have  begged  for  her  pardon  for  the  wrong  which 
his  thoughts  had  done  her. 

** Thank  you,"  he  said  abruptly.  '* Thank  you,  Mrs. 
du  Preez.  It 's — ^it  's  kind  of  you.  You  shall  be  very 
safe  with  me." 

It  was  a  strange  companionship  in  which  they  went 
forward  through  the  night,  he  matching  his  slow  steps 
to  her  weariness,  with  her  thin  arm,  bony  and  rigid 
through  the  cloth  sleeve,  weighing  within  his.  She  was 
too  far  spent  for  talk ;  they  moved  in  a  silence  of  effort 
and  desperate  persistence,  with  only  her  harsh  and 
painful  breathing  sounding  in  reply  to  the  noises  which 
the  darkness  evoked  upon  the  veld.  Every  little  while 
she  had  to  sit  down  on  the  ground,  and  at  each  such 
occasion  she  would  make  her  small  excuse. 

**I  11  have  to  take  a  spell,  now,"  she  would  say  apolo- 
getically.    *'You  see,  I  was  walking  since  before  noon." 

Then  her  arm  would  slide  from  his  and  she  would 
sink  to  earth  at  his  feet,  panting  painfully,  with  her 
head  bowed  on  her  bosom  and  her  big  hat  roofing  her 
over.  Thus  she  would  remain  motionless  for  a  space 
till  her  breath  came  more  easily,  and  then  the  hat 
would  tilt  up  again. 

254 


FLOWER  0*  THE  PEACH 

**I  could  move  on  a  bit,  now,  if  you  'd  give  me  a 
hand  up." 

Her  courage  was  a  thing  he  wondered  at.  Again 
and  again,  as  the  hours  spun  themselves  out,  she  rose 
to  her  feet,  groped  for  his  sustaining  arm,  with  her 
face  a  pallid  disk  against  the  shadow  of  her  hat,  and 
faced  the  cruel  miles.  Her  feet,  in  her  smart  town 
boots,  tormented  her  without  ceasing ;  her  strength  was 
drained  from  her  like  blood  from  an  opened  vein;  and 
the  slowness  of  their  progress  protracted  the  dreary 
horror  of  the  road  that  remained  to  be  covered.  At 
times  she  seemed  to  talk  to  herself  in  whispers  be- 
tween sobbing  breaths,  and  his  ear  caught  hints  of 
words  shaped  laboriously,  but  nothing  that  had  mean- 
ing.   But  she  uttered  no  complaint. 

At  one  point  where  she  rested  rather  longer  than 
usual,  he  tried  to  find  out  what  she  expected  at  the 
journey's  end. 

**Have  you  thought  what  you  11  say,"  he  asked, 
*  *  when  you  get  home  ? " 

She  raised  her  head  slowly. 

'*I  don't  know,"  she  answered.  *'I — I  got  to  take  my 
gruel,  I  suppose.  Whatever  it  is,  I  got  to  take  it. 
It  's  up  to  me." 

It  was  the  sum  of  her  wisdom;  those  free-lances  of 
their  sex  add  it  early  into  the  conclusion  that  saves 
them  the  futile  effort  of  evading  payment  for  the 
fruit  they  snatch  when  the  world  is  not  looking.  After 
the  fun,  the  adventure,  the  thrill,  comes  the  gruel,  and 
they  have  to  take  it.  It  is  up  to  them.  By  the  short 
cut  of  experience,  they  reach  thus  the  end  and  desti- 
nation of  a  severe  morality. 

255 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

**He  can't  shut  you  out,  at  any  rate,"  said  Kamis, 
half-aloud. 

''Can't  he?"  she  said.  ''Can't  he,  though!  Can't 
stand  there  feelin'  noble  and  righteous  and  point  to  the 
veld  and  shut  the  door  with  a  big  slam?  You  don't 
know  him." 

She  rose  again  presently,  clicking  her  tongue  be- 
tween her  teeth  at  the  anguish  of  her  swollen  and 
abraded  feet. 

"The  Boers  got  sense,"  she  said.  "A  person  's  a 
fool  to  go  on  foot. ' ' 

It  was  the  only  reference  she  made  to  her  pain  and 
weariness. 

It  was  long  past  midnight  when  they  came  at  last 
past  the  sheds  behind  the  farmhouse  and  saw  that  there 
was  yet  a  light  in  the  kitchen.  The  window  shone 
broad  and  yellow  in  the  vague  bulk  of  the  house,  and 
as  they  lifted  their  faces  towards  it,  a  shadow  moved 
across  it,  grotesque  and  abrupt  after  the  manner  of 
shadows,  which  seem  to  have  learned  from  men  how  to 
mock  their  makers. 

"That  's  Christian,"  said  Mrs.  du  Preez,  whispering 
harshly. 

"Are  you  afraid?"  asked  Kamis.  "Will  you  sit 
here  while  I  go  and  speak  to  him  first?" 

"No,"  she  replied.  "No  use.  This  is  where  I  get 
what's  comin'  to  me.  I  wish  I  wasn't  so  done  up, 
though.  If  he  knew,  I  believe  p'r'aps  he  'd  let  me  off 
till  the  morning.  But  he  doesn't  know,  and  it 
wouldn't  be  him  if  he  did." 

"Better  let  me  speak  to  him  first,"  urged  Kamis. 
"I  could  tell  him—" 

"No,"  she  said  again.  "No  use  dodging  it.  We  '11 
256 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

go  to  the  back  door;  I  'd  rather  have  him  shut  that  on 
me  than  the  front. '^ 

Near  the  door  she  drew  her  arm  away  from  the 
Kafir's  and  left  him  standing  to  one  side,  while  she 
approached  and  knocked  upon  it  with  the  back  of  her 
hand.     She  meant  to  eat  the  dreaded  gruel  alone. 

Silence  succeeded  upon  her  knocking,  and  then  de- 
liberate footsteps  within  that  came  towards  the  door. 
A  pair  of  bolts  were  thrust  back,  crashing  in  their 
sockets.  Mrs.  du  Preez  gathered  her  sparse  energies 
and  stood  upright  as  the  door  opened  and  the  figure  of 
her  husband  appeared,  tall  and  black  against  the  light 
inside  which  leaked  past  him  and  spilt  itself  about  her 
feet.  For  some  moments  they  stood  facing  each  other, 
and  neither  spoke. 

There  was  drama  in  the  atmosphere.  The  Kafir 
standing  without  its  scope,  watched  absorbedly. 

*^ Christian,''  said  Mrs.  du  Preez,  at  length;  "it's 
me." 

**Yes."  The  Boer's  deep  voice  was  grave.  ** Where 
have  you  been?" 

She  lifted  her  shoulders  in  a  faint  hopeless  shrug. 

**I  ran  away,"  she  said.  ''Like  I  said  I  would.  But 
I  wasn't  up  to  it." 

''You  ran  away,"  he  repeated  slowly.  "With  that 
Bailey?" 

"Yes,  Christian.    But—" 

Christian  caught  sight  of  the  dark  figure  of  the  Kafir 
and  started  sharply. 

"Is  that  him  there?"  he  cried.     "Is  that  Bailey?" 

"No,  no,"  she  answered  eagerly.     "That  's — that  's 
a  Kafir,  Christian ;  he  helped  me  to  get  back.     He  came 
up  when  I  was  too  tired  to  go  any  further,  and  Bailey 
IT  257 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

was  starting  to  kick  me  to  get  my  money  away  from 
me — I  've  got  it  here,  Christian,  all  safe — an'  he 
knocked  Bailey  over  and  chased  him  off.  If  it  hadn't 
ha'  been  for  him — " 

*'What?"  Christian  interrupted  strongly.  *^What 
did  you  say?  Bailey  was  going  to — kick  you?  You 
was  too  tired  to  walk  and  he  was  going  to  kick 
you?" 

**Yes,  Christian.  And  if  it  hadn't  ha'  been  for  this 
Kafir,  he  would  ha'  done.  I  was  sitting  down,  you  see, 
and  he  got  mad  with  me  and  wanted  me  to  hand  him 
over  the  money.  So  when  I  screamed — ^what  did  you 
say.  Christian?" 

'*I  swore,"  answered  the  Boer. 

**0h,"  exclaimed  Mrs.  du  Preez,  as  though  she 
apologized  for  interrupting.  **And  then  the  Kafir 
came  up.  If  it  was  n't  for  him,  Christian,  I  'd — I  'd  ha' 
had  to  die  out  of  doors.  I  could  never  have  managed 
to  get  back  by  myself." 

The  effort  merely  to  stand  upright  taxed  her 
sorely,  but  she  went  on  doggedly  to  praise  the  Kafir 
and  to  try  in  her  confused  and  inadequate  tongue  to 
convey  to  the  Boer  that  this  Kafir  was  not  as  other 
Kafirs.  Her  small  voice,  toneless  and  desperate,  beat 
on  pertinaciously. 

**He  's  a  doctor,  Christian,"  she  concluded.  **He  's 
been  educated  an'  all  that,  an'  he  speaks  English  like  a 
gentleman.     And  he  's  been  a  white  man  to  me." 

**Yes,"  said  the  Boer.  His  mind  was  stuck  fast 
upon  one  point  of  her  story.  **Yes.  But — you  said 
Bailey  was  going  to  hick  you — out  there  all  alone  by 
yourselves  in  the  veld  ? ' ' 

It  daunted  him;  his  intelligence  shrank  from  the 
258 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 
picture  of  that  brutality  unleashed  under  the  staring^ 


**Yes,  Christian/'  answered  Mrs.  du  Preez  submis- 
sively. 

**Here — come  in,''  he  bade  abruptly,  and  stood  aside 
to  make  room  for  her  to  pass.     *'Come  in.     Come  in." 

It  was  a  couple  of  seconds  before  she  fully  compre- 
hended. She  made  a  small  moaning  sound  and  began 
to  totter.     The  Boer  took  her  by  the  arm. 

*'Wait,"  he  said  curtly,  over  her  head,  to  the  Kafir, 
and  led  her  within. 

Kamis  waited,  leaning  against  the  wall  of  the  house. 
He  had  brought  his  task  to  an  end  and  the  finish  had 
arranged  itself  fortunately;  it  had  been  worthy  of  his 
pains.  The  Boer  had  been  startled  from  his  balance; 
he  had  seen  that  nothing  he  could  do  would  bear  an 
equality  with  Boy  Bailey's  natural  impulses;  pardon 
and  generosity  were  the  only  course  left  open  to  him. 
The  work  was  complete  and  pleasing;  and  now  he  had 
leisure  to  feel  how  weary  he  was.  He  shut  his  eyes 
with  an  exhausted  man's  content  at  the  relaxation  of 
effort,  and  opened  them  again  to  find  the  Boer  had 
returned  and  was  standing  in  the  doorway.  He  started 
upright,  amazed  to  find  that  sleep  had  trapped  him 
while  he  leaned  and  was  aware  that  the  Boer  made  a 
sudden  and  indistinct  movement.  Something  heavy 
struck  the  ground  at  his  feet. 

He  looked  down  at  it  where  it  lay,  white  and 
rounded,  and  recognized  Mrs.  du  Preez 's  bundle,  for 
which  Boy  Bailey  had  been  ready  to  kick  her  into 
dumbness.  Without  addressing  a  word  to  him,  the 
Boer  had  tossed  him  that  double  handful  of  money. 

It  took  him  a  moment  to  realize  what  had  taken  place. 
259 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

**What  's  this  for?"  he  demanded  then,  possessed  by 
a  sudden  anger  that  forgot  he  spoke  from  the  mouth 
of  a  negro  to  ears  of  a  white  man. 

**It  is  true  you  speak  English,  then?"  said  the  Boer. 
**That  is  money — about  a  hundred  pounds.  It  is  for 
you.     Pick  it  up." 

'*Pick  it  up  yourself,"  retorted  the  Kafir.  **I  don't 
want  your  money." 

**Eh?"  The  Boer  did  not  understand  in  the  least. 
*'It  is  for  you,"  he  repeated.  *'A  hundred  sovereigns, 
because  you  have  been  good,  very  good,  to  the  Vrouw 
du  Preez.     It  is  in  that  bundle. ' ' 

The  Kafir  turned  on  his  heel.  ''Take  care  of  your 
wife,"  he  said  shortly.  ''If  you  worry  her  now, 
she  'U  be  ill.     Good  night." 

"Here,"  cried  the  Boer,  as  Kamis  walked  away. 
*'Here,  boy,  wait.     Come  back." 

Kamis  halted.  "I  Ve  plenty  of  money,"  he  an- 
swered.    "I  'm  not  Boy  Bailey,  you  know." 

"Come  here,"  called  the  Boer. 

Kamis  did  not  move,  so  he  stepped  down  and  went 
forward  himself.  The  Kafir's  last  word  stuck  in  his 
thought. 

"No,"  he  agreed.  "But  who  are  you?  Man,  why 
don't  you  take  the  money?" 

"If  I  were  a  Boer,  I  should  take  it,"  answered 
Kamis.  "I  'd  pick  it  up  from  a  dunghill,  wouldn't  I? 
But,  then,  you  see,  I  'm  not  a  Boer.     I  'm  a  Kafir. ' ' 

"What  do  you  want,  then?"  demanded  Christian. 

"Oh,  nothing  that  you  can  give,"  was  the  retort. 

"Well — but  you  must  have  something,"  urged 
Christian.    "You — ^you  have  saved  my  wife." 


FLOWER  0^  THE  PEACH 

*'And  you  haven't  even  said  Hhank  you/  *'  replied 
the  Kafir. 

''I  threw  you  the  money/'  protested  Christian.  **It 
is  a  hundred  pounds.  But — well — you  have  been 
good  and  I  thank  you." 

The  Kafir  laughed.  He  knew  the  mere  words 
created  an  epoch,  for  Boers  do  not  thank  Kafirs. 
They  pay  them,  but  no  more.  Strange  how  a  matter 
of  darkness  abrogates  a  difference  of  color.  It  would 
never  have  happened  in  the  daytime. 

**You  're  satisfied,  then?"  he  inquired. 

**Me?"  The  Boer  was  puzzled.  ''You  will  take  the 
money  now  ? ' ' 

"No,  thanks.  I  'm  too — oh,  much  too  tired  and 
hungry  to  carry  it.  You  see,  I  brought  your  wife  a 
long  way. ' ' 

**Yes,''  said  Christian.  ''She  said  so — a  very  long 
way.  I  will  wake  the  boys  [the  Kafirs  of  the  house- 
hold]. They  will  find  you  a  place  to  sleep  and  I  will 
make  them  bring  you  some  food. ' ' 

"No,  thanks,"  said  the  Kafir  again.  "I  don't 
speak  their  language.  You — ^you  haven't  a  man  who 
speaks  English,  I  suppose?" 

"No,"  said  Christian.  "You  want — yes,  I  see. 
But — you  'd  better  take  the  money." 

"I  don't  want  it." 

"But  take  it,"  urged  the  Boer.  "A  hundred 
pounds — it  is  much.  Perhaps  it  is  more;  I  have  not 
counted  it.  If  it  is  less,  I  will  give  the  rest,  to  make 
a  hundred  pounds.     You  will  take  it — not?" 

"No."  The  answer  was  definite.  "No — I  won't 
take  it,  I  tell  you." 

261 


FLOWER  0*  THE  PEACH 

''Then — ^'  Christian  half -turned  towards  the 
house,  with  a  heaviness  in  his  movements  which  had 
not  been  noticeable  before.  **Come  in  and  eat/'  he 
bade  gloomily.     *'Gott  verdam — come  and  eat." 

The  Kafir  checked  another  laugh.  ''With  pleas- 
ure, ' '  he  said,  and  followed  at  the  Boer 's  back. 

The  Boer  stooped  to  pick  up  the  bundle  of  money 
where  it  lay  on  the  earth  and  led  the  way  without 
looking  round  to  the  kitchen  where  he  had  left  his 
wife.  The  Kafir  paused  in  the  kitchen  door,  looking  in, 
acutely  alive  to  the  delicacy  of  a  situation  in  which  he 
figured,  under  the  Boer's  eye,  as  part  of  the  company 
which  included  the  Boer's  wife.  He  waited  to  see  how 
Christian  would  adjust  matters. 

The  table  was  spread  with  the  materials  of  supper. 
Mrs.  du  Preez  had  a  chair  by  it,  and  now  leaned  over 
it,  with  her  head  resting  on  her  arms,  to  make  room 
for  which  plates  and  cups  were  disordered.  Her 
flowery  hat  was  still  on  her  head;  she  had  not  com- 
manded the  energy  necessary  to  withdraw  the  long 
pins  that  held  it  and  take  it  off.  In  her  dust-caked 
best  clothes,  she  sprawled  among  the  food  and  slept, 
and  the  paraffin  lamp  on  the  wall  shed  its  uncharitable 
glare  on  her  unconscious  back. 

Christian  dumped  the  heavy  little  bundle  on  the 
table  beside  her  and  she  moved  and  muttered.  He 
called  her  by  name.  With  a  sigh  she  dragged  her  heavy 
head  up  and  her  black-rimmed  tragic  eyes  opened  to 
them  in  an  agony  of  weariness.  They  rested  on  the 
waiting  Kafir  on  the  doorway. 

"You've  brought  him  in?"  she  said.  "Christian, 
I  hoped  you  would." 

262 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

'*He  is  going  to  eat  with  me,"  said  Cliristian,  with 
eyes  that  evaded  hers. 

**Yes,"  she  said  dully. 

**And  you  go  to  bed,"  he  urged,  with  an  effort  to 
seem  natural.  *'You — you're  too  sleepy;  you  go  to 
bed  now.     I  '11  be  up  soon. ' ' 

*'But,  Christian,"  she  protested,  while  she  wrestled 
with  the  need  for  slumber  that  possessed  her ;  "  I  got  to 
speak  to  you.  There — there  's  something  I  want  to  say 
to  you  first  about — about — " 

**No."  His  hand  rested  on  her  shoulder.  '^It  's  all 
right.  There  's  nothing  to  say;  I  don't  want  to  hear 
anything.     It  's  all  right  now ;  you  go  on  up  to  bed. ' ' 

She  rose  obediently,  but  with  an  effort,  and  her  hands 
moved  blindly  in  front  of  her  as  she  made  for  the 
door,  as  though  she  feared  to  fall. 

**Good  night,  Christian,"  she  quavered.  **You  're 
awful  good.  An'  good  night,  you" — to  the  Kafir. 
**You  been  a  white  man  to  me." 

'  *  Good  night, ' '  replied  Kamis,  and  made  way  for  her 
carefully. 

The  queer  little  scene  was  sufficiently  clear  to  him. 
He  understood  it  entirely.  The  Boer,  face  to  face  with 
an  emergency  for  which  his  experience  and  his  training 
prescribed  no  treatment,  could  stoop  to  sit  at  meat 
with  a  Kafir,  but  he  could  not  suffer  his  wife  to  share 
that  descent.  The  white  woman  must  be  preserved  at 
any  cost  in  her  aloofness,  her  sanctity,  none  the  less 
strong  for  being  artificial,  from  contact  and  communion 
with  a  black  man.    Better  anything  than  that. 

**Sit  down,"  bade  Christian.  **Take  one  of  those 
cups,  and  I  will  bring  you  coffee. ' ' 

263 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

*' Thank  you,"  replied  the  Kafir,  and  obeyed. 

The  paraffin  lamp  shed  its  unwinking  light  on  a 
scene  that  challenged  irresponsible  fancy  with  the 
reality  of  crazy  fact.  The  Boer's  consciousness  of  the 
portentous  character  of  the  event  governed  him 
strongly ;  there  was  majesty  in  his  bearing  as  he  brought 
the  coffee  pot  from  the  fire  and  stood  at  the  side  of 
the  seated  Kafir  and  poured  him  a  cupful.  It  was  done 
with  the  high  sense  of  ceremony,  the  magnificent 
humility,  of  a  Pope  washing  the  immaculate  feet  of 
highly  sanitary  and  disinfected  beggars. 

*' There  is  mutton,"  he  said,  pointing;  **or  I  have 
sardines.     Shall  I  fetch  a  tin?" 

''I  will  have  mutton,  thanks,"  replied  Kamis,  with 
an  equal  formality,  and  drew  the  dish  towards  him. 

The  Boer  seated  himself  at  the  opposite  side  of  the 
table.  The  compact,  as  he  understood  it,  required  that 
he  should  eat  also.  He  cut  himself  meat  and  bread 
very  precisely,  doubtfully  aware  that  he  was  rather 
hungry.  This,  he  felt  vaguely,  stained  a  situation 
where  all  should  have  been  formal  and  symbolic.  He 
ate  slowly,  with  a  dim,  religious  appetite. 

Kamis  might  have  found  the  meal  more  amusing  if  he 
had  been  less  weary.  An  idea  that  he  would  insist 
upon  conversation  visited  him,  but  he  dismissed  it;  he 
was  really  too  tired  to  assault  the  heavy  solemnity  which 
faced  him  across  the  table.  It  would  yield  to  no  casual 
advances;  he  would  have  to  exert  himself,  to  be 
specious  and  dexterous,  to  waylay  the  man's  interest. 

He  pushed  his  unfinished  food  from  him. 

'*I  will  go  home,  now,"  he  said. 

**You  have  had  enough?"  questioned  the  Boer. 

*' Thank  you,"  said  Kamis,  and  rose. 
264 


IB^LOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

The  Boer  rose,  too,  very  tall  and  aloof.  His  hand 
touched  the  money  which  still  lay  on  the  table. 

*^You  will  take  this  with  you?"  he  questioned. 
**No?"  as  the  Kafir  shook  his  head.  *'You  are  sure? 
You  will  not  have  it  ?    Nor  anything  else  ? ' ' 

**I  have  had  all  I  want,"  replied  Kamis,  taking  up 
his  battered  hat.  **You  've  done  everything,  and  more 
than  I  thought  you  would." 

The  Boer  was  insistent. 

**I  want  you  to  be — satisfied,"  he  said,  still  standing 
in  the  same  place.  Kamis  found  his  lofty,  still  face 
rather  impressive.     It  had  a  certain  high  austerity. 

*'You  must  say  if  you  want  anything  more,"  he 
went  on,  with  a  grave  persistence.  **A11  you  want  you 
shall  have — till  you  are  satisfied." 

(** Can't  rest  under  an  obligation  to  me,"  thought 
Kamis) . 

'*I  'm  quite  satisfied,"  he  replied.  *'You  don't  owe 
me  anything,  if  that  's  what  's  worrying  you.  I  'm 
paid  in  full." 

**In  full,"  repeated  the  Boer.  **You  are  paid  in 
full?" 

**Yes."  '  • 

*^Very  well,  then.     And  now  you  shall  go." 

He  went  before  and  stood  at  the  side  of  the  door 
while  Kamis  went  forth,  ready  to  bolt  it  at  his  back. 

**Tell  me,"  he  said,  as  the  Kafir  stepped  over  the 
threshold.     * '  Who  are  you  ? ' ' 

The  other  turned.  **My  name  is  Kamis,"  he  re- 
plied. 

** Kamis?"  The  Boer  leaned  forward,  trying  to 
peer  at  him.  **You  said — Kamis?  You  are  the  little 
Kafir  that  the  General  Lascelles  took  when — " 

265 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

*'Yes;''  said  the  Kafir. 

The  Boer  did  not  answer  at  once.  He  hung  in  the 
doorway,  staring. 

**I  saw  them  hang  your  father,"  he  said  at  last, 
very  slowly. 

' '  Did  y ou  r '  said  Kamis.     ' '  Good  night. ' ' 

**Good  night,"  replied  the  Boer  when  he  was  some 
paces  distant  and  closed  the  door  carefully. 

The  noise  of  its  bolts  being  shot  home  was  the  last 
sound  the  Kafir  heard  from  the  house.  The  wind  that 
comes  before  the  dawn  touched  him  and  he  shivered. 
He  turned  up  the  collar  of  his  coat  and  set  off  walking 
as  briskly  as  his  fatigue  would  allow. 


266 


CHAPTER  XIY 

THE  drawing-room  of  the  Sanatorium  was  availa- 
ble until  tea-time  for  the  practice  of  correspond- 
ence. It  offered  for  this  purpose  a  small  table  with 
the  complexion  of  mahogany  and  a  leather  top,  upon 
which  reposed  an  inkstand  containing  three  pots, 
marked  respectively  in  plain  letters,  *' black,''  **red,'' 
and  '^copying,'*  and  a  number  of  ancient  pens.  When 
a  new  arrival  had  overcome  his  wonder  and  consterna- 
tion at  the  various  features  of  the  establishment,  he 
usually  signalized  his  acceptance  of  what  lay  before 
him  by  writing  to  Capetown  for  a  fountain-pen.  As 
old  inhabitants  of  the  Cape  reveal  themselves  to  the 
expert  eye  by  carrying  their  tobacco  loose  in  a  side 
pocket  of  their  coats,  so  the  patient  who  had  conceded 
Dr.  JaJies'  claims  to  indulgence  was  to  be  distinguished 
by  the  possession  of  a  pen  that  made  him  independent 
of  the  establishment's  supply  and  frequently  by  stains 
of  ink  upon  his  waistcoat  in  the  region  of  the  left- 
hand  upper  pocket,  where  custom  has  decided  a  man 
shall  carry  his  fountain-pen. 

Margaret  had  brought  her  unanswered  letters  to  this 
privacy  and  her  fountain-pen  was  busy  in  the  undis- 
turbed interval  following  the  celebration  of  lunch. 
Hers  was  the  common  task  of  the  exile  in  South  Africa, 
to  improvize  laboriously  letters  to  people  at  home  who 
had  plenty  to  see  and  do  and  no  need  of  the  post 
to   inject   spice    into    their   varied   lives.    There   was 

267 


SLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

nothing  to  write  about,  nothing  to  relate;  the  heat 
of  the  sun,  the  emptiness  of  the  veld,  the  grin  of  Fat 
Mary — each  of  her  letters  played  over  these  worn 
themes.  Yet  unless  they  were  written  and  sent,  the 
indifferent  folk  to  whom  they  were  addressed  would 
not  write  to  her,  and  the  weekly  mail,  with  its  excite- 
ments and  its  reminders,  would  fail  her.  No  dweller 
in  lands  where  the  double  knock  of  the  postman  comes 
many  times  in  the  day  can  know  the  thrill  of  the 
weekly  mail,  discharged  from  the  steamship  in  Cape- 
town and  heralded  in  its  progress  up  the  line  by  tele- 
grams that  announce  to  the  little  dorps  along  the  rail- 
way the  hour  of  its  coming.  They  have  not  waited 
with  a  patient,  preoccupied  throng  in  the  lobby  of 
the  post-office  where  the  numbered  boxes  are,  and  heard 
beyond  the  wooden  partition  the  slam  of  the  bags 
and  the  shuffle  of  the  sorters,  talking  at  their  work 
about  things  remote  from  the  mail.  The  Kafir  mail- 
runners,  with  their  skinny  naked  legs  and  their 
handfuls  of  smooth  sticks  know  how  those  letters  are 
awaited  in  the  hamlets  and  farms  far  remote  from  the 
line,  by  sun-dried,  tobacco-flavored  men  who  are  up 
before  the  dawn  to  receive  them,  by  others  whose 
letters  are  addressed  to  names  they  are  not  called  by, 
and  by  Mrs.  Jakes,  full-dressed  and  already  a  little 
tired  two  hours  before  breakfast.  All  those  letters  are 
paid  for  by  screeds  that  suck  dry  the  brains  of  their 
writers,  desperately  searching  over  the  chewed  ends 
of  penholders  for  suggestions  on  barren  ground. 

There  was  one  letter  which  Margaret  had  set  herself 
to  compose  that  had  a  different  purpose.  There  were 
not  lacking  signs  that  her  position  in  Dr.  'Jakes'  house- 
hold would  sooner  or  later  become  impossible,  and  it 

268 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

was  desirable  to  clear  the  road  for  a  retreat  when 
no  other  road  would  be  open  to  her.  It  was  not  only 
that  Mrs.  Jakes  burned  to  be  rid  of  her  and  had  taken 
of  late  to  dim  hints  of  her  desire  in  this  respect,  for 
Margaret  was  prepared,  if  she  were  forced  to  it,  to 
find  Mrs.  Jakes'  enmity  amusing  and  treat  it  in  that 
light.  Such  a  course,  she  judged  would  paralyze  Mrs. 
Jakes;  in  the  face  of  laughter,  the  little  woman  was 
impotent.  But  there  was  also  the  prospect,  daily 
growing  nearer  and  more  threatening,  of  an  exposure 
which  would  show  her  ruthlessly  forth  as  the  friend 
and  confidante  of  the  Kafir,  Kamis,  the  woman  for 
whom  Ford  and  Mr.  Samson,  had,  in  their  own 
phrase,  **no  use."  The  hour  when  that  exposure 
should  be  made  loomed  darkly  ahead;  nothing  could 
avert  its  sinister  advance  upon  her,  nor  lighten  it  of 
its  quality  of  doom.  She  no  longer  invited  her  secret 
to  make  itself  known.  By  degrees  the  warnings  of 
Kamis,  the  threats  of  Boy  Bailey,  the  malice  of  Mrs. 
Jakes,  had  struck  their  roots  in  her  consciousness, 
and  she  was  becoming  acclimatized  to  the  South- 
African  spirit  which  threatens  with  vague  penalties, 
not  the  less  real  for  being  vague,  such  transgressors 
as  she  of  its  one  iron  rule  of  life  and  conduct.  When 
it  should  come  upon  her,  she  decided,  she  would  sum- 
mon her  strength  to  accept  it,  and  confront  it  serenely, 
in  the  manner  of  good  breeding.  But  when  that  was 
done,  she  would  have  to  go. 

She  was  writing  therefore  to  the  legal  uncle  of 
Lincoln's  Inn  Fields,  who  controlled  her  affairs  and 
manifested  himself  with  sprightly  letters  and  punctual 
cheques.  He  was  an  opinionative  uncle,  like  most  men 
who  jest   along  the   established  lines   of  humor,   but 

069 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

amenable  to  a  reasonable  submissiveness  on  the  part 
of  his  ward  and  niece.  He  liked  to  be  inflexible — good- 
naturedly  inflexible,  like  an  Olympian  who  condescends 
to  earth,  but  he  could  be  counted  upon  to  repay  an  op- 
portunity for  a  display  of  his  inflexibility  by  liberal 
indulgence  upon  other  points.  Therefore  Margaret, 
after  consideration,  commenced  the  serious  part  of  her 
epistle  to  the  heathen  with  a  suggestion  in  regard  to  in- 
vestments which  she  knew  would  rouse  him.  Then,  in  a 
following  paragraph: 

I  am  better  than  I  was  when  I  came  out,  but  not 
better  than  I  was  a  month  ago,  and  I  don't  think  I 
am  improving  as  rapidly  as  Dr.  David  hoped.  It  may 
be  that  I  am  a  little  too  far  to  the  East  of  the  Karoo. 
Was  it  you  or  somebody  else  who  advised  me  to  keep 
to  the  West? 

'*That  11  help  to  fetch  him,"  murmured  Margaret,  as 
she  wrote  the  last  words. 

Perhaps,  later  on,  if  Dr.  Jakes  thinks  well  of  it,  I 
might  move  to  a  place  I  hear  of  over  in  the  West.  I  'ni 
letting  you  know  now  in  plenty  of  time;  but  I  don't 
want  you  to  think  there  is  anything  seriously  wrong. 
Please  don't  be  at  all  anxious. 

**Now  something  fluffy,"  pondered  Margaret.  '*If  I 
get  it  right,  he  '11  order  me  to  go. ' ' 

What  makes  me  hesitate,  she  wrote,  is  the  trouble 
it  will  cost  me  to  move  from  here.  Would  you  please 
show  this  letter  to  Dr.  David  and  ask  his  opinion  ? 

'*That  Tl  do  the  trick,"  she  decided  unscrupulously. 
270 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

*'Dr.  David  will  see  there  's  something  in  it  and  he  '11 
back  me  up.  And  then,  when  the  row  comes,  they  shall 
each  have  a  cut  at  me, — Mrs.  Jakes  and  Fat  Mary  and 
all — they  shall  each  have  their  chance  to  draw  blood, 
and  then  I  11  go." 

While  she  wrote,  there  had  been  the  sound  of  footsteps 
on  the  stone  floor  of  the  hall  outside  the  room,  but  she 
had  been  too  busy  to  note  them.  Otherwise,  she  would 
quickly  have  marked  an  unfamiliar  foot  among  them. 
They  were  reduced  to  that  at  the  Sanatorium ;  they  knew 
every  foot  that  sounded  on  its  floors  and  a  strange  one 
fetched  them  running  to  look  from  doors.  But  Mar- 
garet's occupation  had  robbed  her  of  that  mild  exhilara- 
tion, and  she  looked  up  all  unsuspiciously  as  Mrs.  Jakes 
pushed  open  the  door  of  the  drawing-room,  entered  and 
closed  it  carefully  behind  her. 

She  came  a  couple  of  paces  into  the  room  and  halted, 
looking  at  the  girl  in  a  manner  that  recalled  to  Mar- 
garet that  fantastic  night  when  she  had  come  with  a 
candle  to  seek  aid  for  Dr.  Jakes.  Though  she  had  not 
now  her  little  worried  smile,  she  wore  the  same  bewil- 
dered and  embarrassed  aspect,  as  of  a  purpose  crossed 
and  complicated  by  considerations  and  doubts. 

*^Are  you  looking  for  me,  Mrs.  Jakes?"  asked  Mar- 
garet, when  she  had  waited  in  vain  for  her  to  speak. 

*'Yes,"  replied  Mrs.  Jakes,  in  a  hushed  voice,  and  re- 
mained where  she  stood. 

Again  Margaret  waited  in  vain  for  her  to  speak. 

**I  'm  rather  busy  just  now,"  she  said.  **What  is 
it  you  want  with  me,  please?" 

Mrs.  Jakes  looked  to  see  that  the  door  was  closed  be- 
fore she  answered. 

'*It  isn't  me,"  she  said  then.  <*We — ^we  don't  get 
271 


FLOWER  O'  THE  PEACH 

on  very  well,  Miss  Harding;  but  this  isn't  my  doing. 
I  Ve  never  whispered  a  word  to  a  soul.  I  have  n  't,  in- 
deed, if  I  never  speak  another  word." 

Margaret  stared  at  her,  perceiving  suddenly  that  the 
small  bleak  woman  was  all  a-thrill  with  some  nervous 
tension.     Her  own  nerves  quivered  in  response  to  it. 

''What  is  it?"  she  demanded.  ''What  has  hap- 
pened?" 

"It  's  the  police,"  breathed  Mrs.  STakes.  She  gave 
the  word  the  accent  in  which  she  felt  it.  ' '  The  police, ' ' 
she  said,  with  a  stricken  sense  of  all  that  police  stand 
for,  of  which  unbearable  and  public  shame  is  chief. 
She  was  trembling,  and  her  small  hands,  with  their 
rough  red  knuckles  like  raw  scars  upon  them,  were  pick- 
ing feverishly  at  her  loose  black  skirt. 

Margaret's  heart  beat  the  more  quickly  at  the  mere 
tone  of  her  whisper,  fraught  with  dim  fears;  but  the 
words  conveyed  nothing  to  her.  If  anything,  they  re- 
lieved her.  In  the  hinterland  of  her  consciousness  the 
forward-cast  shadow  of  that  impending  hour  was  per- 
petually dark;  but  the  police  could  have  no  concern  in 
that. 

"Oh,  do  please  talk  plainly,"  she  said  irritably. 
"What  exactly  do  you  want  to  tell  me?  And  what 
have  I  got  to  do  with  the  police?" 

The  stimulus  of  her  impatient  tones  was  what  was 
needed  to  restore  Mrs.  Jakes  to  coherence.  She  stared 
at  the  girl  with  a  sort  of  stupefaction. 

"What  have  you  got  to  do  with  it,"  she  repeated. 
"Why — it  's  all  about  you.  Somebody  's  told  about  you 
and  that  Kafir — about  you  knowing  him  and  all  about 
him,  and  now  Mr.  Van  Zyl  is  in  the  doctor's  study. 
He  's  come  to  inquire  about  it." 

272 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

^*0h/'  said  Margaret  slowly. 

It  had  struck  then,  the  bitter  hour  of  revelation;  it 
had  crept  upon  her  out  of  an  ambush  of  circumstance 
when  she  least  expected  it,  and  the  reckoning  was  due. 
There  was  to  be  no  time  allowed  her  in  which  to  build 
up  her  courage;  even  her  retreat  must  be  over  strange 
roads.  Before  the  gong  went  to  gather  the  occupants 
of  the  house  for  tea,  the  stroke  would  have  fallen,  and 
her  place  in  the  minds  of  her  fellows  would  be  with  Dr. 
Jakes  on  the  hearth-rug,  an  outcast  from  their  circle. 
Unless,  indeed.  Dr.  Jakes  should  also  decline  her  com- 
pany, as  seemed  likely. 

It  was  the  image  in  her  mind  of  a  scornful  and  su- 
perior Jakes  that  excited  the  smile  with  which  she  looked 
up  at  Jakes'  frightened  wife. 

**So  long  as  he  doesn't  bother  me,  he  can  inquire  as 
much  as  he  likes,"  she  said. 

Mrs.  Jakes  did  not  understand.  *'It  's  you  he  's  go- 
ing to  inquire  of,"  she  said.  '^I  suppose,  of  course — 
I  suppose  you  '11  tell  him  about — about  that  night?" 

**I  shan't  tell  him  anything,"  replied  Margaret. 
*'0h,  you  needn't  be  afraid,  Mrs.  Jakes.  I  'm  not  go- 
ing to  take  this  opportunity  of  punishing  you  for  all 
your  unpleasantness.  I  shall  simply  refuse  to  answer 
any  questions  at  all." 

*'You  can't  do  that."  Mrs.  Jakes  showed  her  relief 
plainly  in  her  face  and  in  the  relaxation  of  her  attitude. 
She  had  forgotten  one  of  the  first  rules  of  her  manner 
of  warfare,  which  is  to  doubt  the  enemy's  word.  But 
in  spite  of  a  reluctant  gratitude  for  the  contemptuous 
mercy  accorded  to  her,  she  felt  dully  resentful  at  this 
high  attitude  of  Margaret's  towards  the  terrors  of  the 
police. 

i«  273 


FLOWER  0^  THE  PEACH 


Cl 


'You  can't  do  that,"  she  said.  ''He  's  got  a  right 
to  know — and  he  's  a  sub-inspector.  He  '11  insist — he  11 
make  you  tell — " 

"I  think  not,"  said  Margaret  quietly. 

''But  he  's— " 

Mrs.  Jakes  broke  off  sharply  as  a  hand  without  turned 
the  handle  of  the  door  and  pushed  it  open.  Ford  ap- 
peared, and  paused  at  the  sight  of  them  in  conversa- 
tion. 

"Hallo,"  he  said.    "Am  I  interrupting?" 

Mrs.  Jakes  hesitated,  but  Margaret  answered  with 
decision. 

"Not  at  all,"  she  said.     "Come  in,  please." 

It  occurred  to  her  that  the  blow  would  be  swifter  if 
Ford  himself  were  present  when  it  fell  and  there  were 
no  muddle  of  explanations  to  drag  it  out. 

Ford  entered  reluctantly,  scenting  a  quarrel  between 
the  two  and  suspicious  of  Margaret's  intentions  in  de- 
siring his  presence. 

"There  's  a  horse  and  orderly  by  the  steps,"  he  said. 
"Is  Van  Zyl  somewhere  about?  That's  why  I  came 
in,  to  see  if  he  was  here." 

"He — he  is  in  the  study,"  answered  Mrs.  Jakes,  in 
extreme  discomfort.  She  turned  to  Margaret.  "If 
you  will  come  now,  I  will  take  you  to  him." 

Ford  turned,  surprised. 

"What  for?"  asked  Margaret. 

"He — sent  for  you."  Mrs.  Jakes  did  not  understand 
the  question ;  she  only  perceived  dimly  that  some  quality 
in  the  situation  was  changed  and  that  she  no  longer 
counted  in  it. 

"But  what  the  dickens  did  he  do  that  for?"  asked 

274 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

''We  '11  see/'  said  Margaret,  forestalling  Mrs.  Jakes' 
bewildered  reply.  ''Please  tell  him,  Mrs.  Jakes,  that 
I  am  here  and  can  spare  him  a  few  minutes  at  once." 

"Yes,"  acquiesced  Mrs.  Jakes,  helplessly,  and  de- 
parted. 

Ford  came  lounging  across  the  room  to  Margaret. 

"What's  up?"  he  inquired.  "You  haven't  been 
murdering  somebody  and  not  letting  me  help?" 

Margaret  shook  her  head.  She  was  standing  guard 
over  her  composure  and  could  not  afford  to  jest. 

"Sit  down  over  there,"  she  bade  him,  motioning  him 
towards  the  couch  at  the  other  side  of  the  wide  room. 
"And  don't  go  away,  even  if  he  asks  you  to.  Then 
you  '11  hear  all  about  it." 

He  wondered  but  obeyed  slowly,  leaning  back  against 
the  end  of  the  couch  with  one  long  leg  lying  up  on  the 
cushions. 

"If  he  talks  in  the  tone  of  his  message  to  you," 
he  said  meditatively,  "I  shall  be  for  punching  his 
head." 

Sub-Inspector  Van  Zyl  had  had  the  use  of  a  clothes- 
brush  before  expressing  his  desire  to  see  Margaret;  it 
was  a  tribute  he  paid  to  his  high  official  mission.  He 
had  cleared  himself  and  his  accoutrement  of  dust  and 
the  stain  of  his  journey ;  and  it  was  with  the  enhanced 
impressiveness  of  spick-and-span  cleanliness  that  he  pre- 
sented himself  in  the  drawing-room,  pausing  in  the 
doorway  with  his  spurred  heels  together  to  lift  his  hand 
in  a  precise  and  machine-like  salute.  At  his  back,  Mrs. 
Jakes'  unpretentious  black  made  a  relief  for  his  rigid 
correctitude  of  attire  and  pose,  and  the  pallid  agitation 
of  her  countenance,  peering  in  fearful  curiosity  to  one 
side   of   him,   heightened   his   military   stolidity.    His 

275 


FLOWER  O'  THE  PEACH 

stone-blue  eyes  rested  on  Ford's  recumbence  with  a 
shadow  of  surprise. 

*' Afternoon,  Ford/'  he  said  curtly.  "You  '11  excuse 
me,  but  I  've  a  word  or  two  to  say  to  Miss  Harding." 

'*  Afternoon,  Van  Zyl,"  replied  Ford,  not  moving. 
**Miss  Harding  asked  me  to  stay,  so  don't  mind 
me." 

Van  Zyl  looked  at  him  inexpressively.  "I  'm  on 
duty,"  he  said.  "Sorry,  but  I  wish  you  'd  go.  My 
business  is  with  Miss  Harding." 

"Fire  away,"  replied  Ford.  "I  shan't  say  a  word 
unless  Miss  Harding  wishes  it." 

Margaret  moved  in  her  chair. 

"You  will  say  what  you  please,"  she  said.  "Don't 
regard  me  at  all,  Mr.  Ford.  Now — what  can  I  do  for 
you,  Mr.  Van  Zyl?" 

Van  Zyl  finished  his  scrutiny  of  Ford  and  turned  to 
her. 

"I  sent  to  ask  you  to  see  me  in  the  other  room.  Miss 
Harding,  because  I  thought  you  would  prefer  me  to 
speak  to  you  in  private,"  he  said,  with  his  wooden  pre- 
ciseness  of  manner.  "That  was  why.  Sorry  if  it  of- 
fended you.    However — " 

He  stood  aside  and  held  the  door  while  Mrs.  Jakes 
entered,  and  closed  it  behind  her.  Stalking  imperturb- 
ably,  he  placed  a  chair  for  her  and  drew  one  out  for 
himself,  depositing  his  badged  "smasher"  hat  on  the 
ground  beside  it.  Seated,  he  drew  from  his  smoothly 
immaculate  tunic  a  large  note-book  and  snapped  its  elas- 
tic band  open  and  laid  it  on  his  knee.  Ford,  from 
his  place  on  the  couch,  watched  these  preparations  with 
gentle  interest. 

Van  Zyl  looked  up  at  Margaret  with  a  pencil  in  his 
276 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

fingers.  His  pale,  uncommunicative  eyes  fastened  on 
her  with  an  unemotional  assurance  in  their  gaze. 

''First,"  he  said;  ** where  were  you,  Miss  Harding, 
on  the  afternoon  of  the  -th?'' 

He  mentioned  a  date  to  which  Margaret's  mind  ran 
back  nimbly.  It  was  the  day  on  which  Boy  Bailey  had 
made  terms  from  the  top  of  the  dam  wall,  the  day  on 
which  the  Kafir  had  kissed  her  hand,  nearly  two  weeks 
before. 

She  had  herself  sufficiently  in  hand,  and  returned 
his  gaze  with  a  faint  smiling  tranquillity  that  told  him 
nothing. 

**I  have  no  information  to  give  you,  Mr.  Van  Zyl,'' 
she  replied  evenly.  *'It  is  quite  useless  to  ask  me  any 
questions;  I  shan't  answer  them." 

He  was  not  disturbed.  ''Sorry,"  he  said,  "but  I  'm 
afraid  you  must.  I  hope  you  'II  remember  that  I  have 
my  duty  to  do,  Miss  Harding." 

''Must,  eh?" 

That  was  Ford,  thoughtfully,  from  the  couch.  Van 
Zyl  looked  in  his  direction  sharply  with  a  brief  frown, 
but  let  it  pass. 

"It  's  no  use,  Mr.  Van  Zyl,"  said  Margaret.  "I 
simply  am  not  going  to  answer  any  questions,  and  your 
duty  has  nothing  to  do  with  me.  So  if  there  is  nothing 
else  that  you  wish  to  say  to  me,  your  business  is  fin- 
ished." 

"No,"  he  said;  "it  isn't  finished  yet,  Miss  Harding. 
You  refuse  to  say  where  you  were  on  that  afternoon?" 

Margaret  smiled  slowly  and  he  made  a  quick  note 
in  his  book. 

"I  ought  to  say,  perhaps,"  he  went  on,  looking  up 
when  he  had  finished  writing,  "that  the  information  I 

277 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

am  asking  for  relates  to  a — a  person,  who  is  wanted  by 
the  police  on  a  charge  of  sedition  and  incitement  to 
commit  a  breach  of  the  peace.  You  were  seen  on  the 
afternoon  in  question  in  the  company  of  that — person, 
Miss  Harding;  and  I  believe — I  'believe  you  can  help  us 
to  lay  hands  on  him.'* 

*'Is  it  Samson?"  inquired  Ford,  raising  his  head. 
**I  've  always  had  my  suspicions  of  Samson." 

*'0h,  Mr.  Ford,"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Jakes,  pained. 

**It  's  not  Mr.  Samson,"  said  the  sub-inspector 
calmly;  **and  it  is  not  any  business  of  yours.  Ford." 

*'0h,  yes;  it  is,"  answered  Ford.  *' Because  if  it 
isn't  Samson  it  must  be  me — unless  it  's  Jakes.  You 
seem  to  think  we  see  a  good  deal  of  company  here,  Van 
Zyl." 

*'I  don't  think  anything  at  all,"  retorted  the  sub- 
inspector  stiffly ;  *  *  and  I  've  nothing  to  say  to  you.  My 
business  is  with  Miss  Harding,  and  you  won't  help  her 
by  making  a  nuisance  of  yourself. ' ' 

'^Eh?"  Ford  sat  up  suddenly.  *'What 's  that- 
won  't  help  her  ?  Are  you  trying  to  frighten  Miss  Hard- 
ing by  suggesting  that  you  can  use  any  sort  of  compul- 
sion to  her  ?  Because,  if  that  's  your  idea,  you  'd  better 
look  out  what  you  're  doing." 

*'I  'm  not  responsible  to  you.  Ford,"  replied  Van  Zyl 
shortly.  *'You  can  hold  your  tongue  now.  Miss  Hard- 
ing understands  well  enough  what  I  mean. ' ' 

'*0h,  yes,"  said  Margaret,  as  Ford  looked  towards 
her.     *'I  understand,  but  I  don't  care." 

It  was  taking  its  own  strange  course,  but  she  was  not 
concerned  to  deflect  it  or  make  it  run  more  directly. 
She  conserved  her  powers  for  the  moment  when  the 
thing  would  be  told,  and  Ford's  indignant  champion- 

278 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

ship  arrested  brusquely  by  the  mere  name  of  her  offense. 
Presently  Van  Zyl  would  cease  to  speak  of  *'a  person*' 
and  come  out  with  the  plain  word,  *' Kafir.''  How  he 
had  gained  his  information  she  did  not  attempt  to  guess ; 
but  that  he  had  the  means  to  break  her  there  was  no 
doubting.  She  would  answer  no  questions;  she  was  de- 
termined upon  that;  but  now  that  the  hour  of  revela- 
tion was  come,  she  would  do  nothing  to  fog  it.  It  should 
pass  and  be  done  with  and  leave  her  with  its  conse- 
quences clear  to  weigh  and  abide. 

She  made  a  motion  of  the  hand  that  hung  over  the 
back  of  her  chair  to  Ford,  as  though  she  would  hush 
him.  He  was  puzzled  and  looked  it,  but  subsided  pro- 
visionally against  the  end  of  the  couch  again. 

Van  Zyl  eased  his  shoulders  in  their  bondage  of  slings 
and  straps  with  a  practised  shrug,  crossed  one  booted  leg 
over  the  other  and  faced  her  afresh. 

*'Now,  Miss  Harding,  you  see  that  I  am  not  speaking 
by  guess ;  and  it  's  for  you  to  say  whether  you  will  have 
the  rest  of  this  here  or  in  private.  I  'm  anxious  to  give 
you  every  possible  consideration." 

**I  shan't  answer  any  questions,"  said  Margaret, 
**and  I  decline  any  privacy,  Mr.  Van  Zyl." 

**No?  Very  well.  I  must  do  my  duty  as  best  I 
can,"  replied  the  sub-inspector,  with  official  resignation. 
He  referred  to  a  back  page  of  his  note-book  perfunc- 
torily. 

**0n  the  -th  of  this  month,  man  discovered  weeping 
and  disorderly  on  the  platform  at  Zeekoe  Siding,  stated 
to  Corporal  Simms  that  he  had  been  robbed  of  five  hun- 
dred pounds  by  confidence  trick  on  down  train.  Under 
examination,  varied  the  sum,  and  finally  adhered  to 
figure  of  forty-three  pounds  odd,  which  he  alleged  was 

279 


FLOWER  0^  THE  PEACH 

part  of  fifty  pounds  he  had  received  from  the — ^person 
in  whose  company  he  had  seen  you." 

**Ah!"  Margaret  found  herself  smiling  absently  at 
the  memory  of  Boy  Bailey  making  his  bargain  on  the 
top  of  the  dam  wall,  with  his  bare  unbeautiful  feet  fid- 
geting in  the  grass. 

Sub-inspector  Van  Zyl  surveyed  her  with  his  imper- 
sonal stare  and  continued: 

*'He  gave  the  name  of  Claude  Richmond,  but  was 
afterwards  identified  as  one  Noah  Bailey,  alias  Boy 
Bailey,  alias  Spotted  Dog,  etc.,  wanted  by  the  police  in 
connection  with — a  certain  affair.  On  being  charged, 
feigned  to  fall  in  a  fit  but  came  to  under  treatment,  and 
made  a  certain  communication,  which  was  transmitted 
to  me  as  bearing  upon  my  search  for  this — person.  The 
communication  was  detailed.  Miss  Harding,  and  he  stood 
to  it  under  a  searching  examination,  and  satisfied  us 
that  we  were  getting  the  truth  out  of  him.  Acting  upon 
the  information  thus  received,  I  next  called  upon  you." 

He  looked  up.  *'You  see  what  I  have  to  go  upon?" 
he  said.  **  Since  you  know  yourself  what  took  place  on 
the  afternoon  about  which  I  asked  you,  you  can  under- 
stand that  the  police  require  your  assistance.  Do  you 
still  refuse  to  answer  me,  Miss  Harding?" 

'*0f  course,"  replied  Margaret. 

Now  it  would  come,  she  thought.  Van  Zyl  would 
spare  her  no  longer.  She  watched  his  smooth,  tanned 
face  with  nervous  trepidation. 

He  frowned  slightly  at  her  answer,  and  leaned  for- 
ward with  the  note-book  in  his  hand,  his  forefinger  be- 
tween the  pages  to  keep  the  place. 

**You  do?"  he  demanded,  his  voice  rising  to  a  sharp 
note.    Ford  sat  up  again,  watchful  and  angry.     *'You 

280 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

refuse,  do  you?    Now,  look  here,  Miss  Harding,  we  '11 
have  to  make  an  end  of  this." 

Ford  struck  in  crisply.  ''Good  idea,"  he  said.  *'l 
suggest  Miss  Harding  might  quit  the  room  for  that  pur- 
pose, and  leave  you  to  explain  to  me  what  the  devil 
you  mean  by  this." 

Van  Zyl  turned  on  him  quickly.  *'You  look  out,"  he 
said.  *'If  I  've  got  to  arrest  you  to  shut  your  mouth, 
I  '11  do  it — and  quick  too." 

**Why  not?"  demanded  Ford.  ''That  '11  be  as  good 
a  way  for  you  to  get  the  lesson  you  need  as  any 
other." 

'^You'll  get  a  lesson,"  began  Van  Zyl,  making  as 
though  to  rise  and  put  his  threat  into  action. 

"Oh,  please,"  cried  Margaret;  "none  of  this  is  neces- 
sary. Sit  down,  Mr.  Ford;  please  sit  down  and  listen. 
Mr.  Van  Zyl,  you  have  only  to  speak  out  and  you  will  be 
free  from  further  trouble,  I  'm  sure." 

"I  've  taken  too  much  trouble  as  it  is,"  retorted  the 
sub-inspector.     "I  '11  have  no  more  of  it. ' ' 

He  glared  with  purpose  at  Ford.  Though  he  had  not 
at  any  moment  doffed  his  formality  of  demeanor,  the 
small  scene  had  lit  a  spark  in  him  and  he  was  newly 
formidable  and  forceful.  Ford  met  his  look  with  the 
narrow  smile  with  which  a  man  of  his  type  masks  a  ris- 
ing temper,  but  so  far  yielded  to  Margaret's  urgency 
as  to  lean  back  upon  one  elbow. 

"You  '11  be  sorry  for  all  this  presently,"  Margaret 
said  to  him  warningly. 

"Very  soon,  in  fact,"  added  the  sub-inspector,  "if 
he  repeats  the  offense." 

He  settled  himself  again  on  his  chair,  confronting 
Margaret. 

281 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

**Now,  Miss  Harding,"  he  resumed  briskly.  *'Out 
with  it?     You  admit  you  were  there,  eh?" 

''Oh,  no,"  said  Margaret.  **You  're  asking  ques- 
tions again,  Mr.  Van  Zyl." 

''And  I  'm  going  to  have  an  answer,  too,"  he  re- 
plied zestfully.  "You  've  got  a  wrong  idea  entirely  of 
what  's  before  you.  You  can  still  have  this  in  private, 
if  you  like ;  but  here  or  elsewhere,  you  '11  speak  or  out 
comes  the  whole  thing.  Now,  which  is  it  going  to  be- — 
sharp?" 

"I  Ve  nothing  to  tell  you,"  she  maintained. 

His  blond,  neat  face  hardened. 

"Haven't  you,  though.  We'll  see?  You  know  a 
Kafir  calling  himself — "  he  made  a  lightning  reference 
to  his  book — "calling  himself  Kamis?" 

She  made  no  answer. 

"You  know  the  man,  eh?  It  was  with  him  you  spent 
the  afternoon  of  the  -th,  was  n  't  it  ?  Under  the  wall  of 
the  dam  down  yonder — yes?  You  've  met  him  more 
than  once,  and  always  alone  ? ' ' 

She  kept  a  constraint  on  herself  to  preserve  her 
faintly-smiling  indifference  of  countenance,  but  her  face 
felt  stiff  and  cold,  and  her  smile  as  though  it  sagged  to 
a  blatant  grin.  She  did  not  glance  across  to  see  how 
Ford  had  received  the  news;  that  had  suddenly  become 
impossible. 

"You  see?"  There  was  a  restrained  triumph  in  Van 
Zyl's  voice.  "We  know  more  than  you  think,  young 
lady — and  more  still.  You  won't  answer  questions, 
won't  you?  You  let  a  Kafir  kiss  you  under  a  wall,  and 
then  put  up  this  kind  of  bluff." 

There  was  an  explosion  from  Ford  as  he  leaped  to  hia 
feet,  with  the  hectic  brilliant  on  each  cheek. 

282 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

''You  liar/'  he  cried.    ''You  filthy  Dutch  liar." 

Van  Zyl  did  not  even  turn  his  head.  A  hard  smile 
parted  his  squarely-cut  lips  as  he  watched  Margaret. 
At  his  word,  she  had  made  a  small  involuntary  move- 
ment as  though  to  put  a  hand  on  her  bosom,  but  had  let 
it  fall  again. 

"You  may  decide  to  answer  that,  perhaps,'*  sug- 
gested the  sub-inspector.  "Do  you  deny  that  he  kissed 
you?" 

There  was  a  pause,  while  Ford  stood  waiting  and  the 
sound  of  his  breathing  filled  the  interval.  The  fingers 
of  Margaret's  left  hand  bent  and  unbent  the  flap  of  the 
envelope  destined  for  the  legal  uncle,  but  her  mind  was 
far  from  it  and  its  contents.  "You  liar,"  Ford  had 
cried,  and  it  had  had  a  fine  sound;  even  now  she  had 
but  to  rise  as  though  insulted  and  walk  from  the  room, 
and  his  loyalty  would  endure,  unspotted,  unquestion- 
ing, touchy  and  quick.  She  might  have  done  well  to 
choose  the  line  that  would  have  made  that  loyalty  valid, 
and  she  felt  herself  full  of  regrets,  of  pain  and  loss, 
that  it  must  find  itself  betrayed.  The  vehemence  of  the 
cry  was  testimony  to  the  faith  that  gave  it  utterance. 

And  then,  for  the  first  time  in  the  interview,  she  dwelt 
upon  the  figure  that  stood  at  the  back  of  all  this  disor- 
dered trouble — that  of  Kamis,  remote  from  their  agi- 
tated circle,  companioning  in  his  solitude  with  griefs  of 
his  own.  He  came  into  her  mind  by  way  of  compari- 
son with  the  directness  and  vivid  anger  of  Ford,  stand- 
ing tense  and  agonized  for  her  reply,  with  all  his  honest 
soul  in  his  thin  dark  face.  His  flimsy  silk  clothes  made 
apparent  the  lean  youth  of  his  body.  The  other  went 
to  and  fro  in  the  night  and  the  silence  in  shabby  tweeds, 
and  his  face  denied  an  index  to  the  strong  spirit  that 

283 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

drove  him.  He  suffered  behind  blubber  lips  and  a  com- 
ical nose;  he  was  humble  and  grateful.  The  two  had 
nothing  in  common  if  it  were  not  that  faith  in  her,  to 
which  she  must  now  do  the  peculiar  justice  that  the  sit- 
uation required. 

**Let  's  have  it,"  urged  the  sub-inspector.  **He 
kissed  you.  this  nigger  did,  and  you  let  him?  Speak 
up.'' 

Boy  Bailey  had  said,  imaginatively:  "She  held  out 
both  her  arms  to  him — wide ;  and  he  took  hold  of  her  an' 
hugged  her,  kissin'  her  till  I  couldn't  stand  the  sight 
any  longer.  *You  shameless  woman!'  I  shouted" — at 
that  point  he  had  been  kicked  by  a  scandalized  corporal, 
and  had  screamed.  **I  wish  I  may  die  if  he  did  n't  kiss 
her,"  was  the  form  that  kicking  finally  reduced  it  to, 
but  they  could  not  kick  that  out  of  him.  He  stood  for 
one  kiss  while  bruises  multiplied  upon  him. 

''Well,  did  he  kiss  you  or  didn't  he?" 

Margaret  sighed.  ''I  will  tell  you  that,"  she  said 
wearily.     **Yes,  he  did — ^he  kissed  my  hand." 

Sub-inspector  Van  Zyl  sat  up  briskly.  **I  thought 
we  'd  get  something  before  we  were  done,"  he  said,  and 
smiled  with  a  kind  of  malice  at  Ford.  **You  'd  like  to 
apologize,  I  expect?" 

Ford  did  not  answer  him;  he  was  staring  in  mere 
amazement  at  Margaret's  immovable  profile. 

**Is  that  true?"  he  demanded. 

Margaret  forced  herself  to  look  round  and  meet  the 
wonder  of  his  face. 

**0h,  quite,"  she  answered.     ''Quite  true." 

His  eyes  wavered  before  hers  as  though  he  were 
ashamed  and  abashed.  He  put  an  uncertain  hand  to 
his  lips. 

284 


FLOWER  0*  THE  PEACH 

''I  see/'  he  said,  very  thoughtfully,  and  sat  again 
upon  the  couch. 

''Well,  after  that,  what  's  the  sense  of  keeping  any- 
thing back?"  Van  Zyl  went  on  confidently.  *'You  see 
what  comes  of  standing  out  against  the  police?  Now, 
what  are  your  arrangements  for  meeting  this  Kafir? 
Where  do  you  send  to  let  him  know  he  's  to  come  and  see 
you?'' 

''No,''  said  Margaret.  "It's  no  use;  I  won't  tell 
you  any  more." 

"Oh,  yes,  you  will."  Van  Zyl  felt  quite  sure  of  it. 
He  eyed  her  acutely  and  decided  to  venture  a  shot  in 
the  dark.  "You  '11  tell  me  all  I  ask, — d'you  hear?  I 
haven't  done  with  you  yet.  You  've  seen  him  at  night, 
too,  when  you  were  supposed  to  be  in  bed.  You  can't 
deceive  me.  I  've  seen  your  kind  before,  plenty  of  them, 
and  I  know  the  way  to  deal  with  them. ' ' 

His  shot  in  the  dark  found  its  mark.  So  he  knew  of 
that  night  when  Dr.  Jakes  had  fallen  in  the  road.  Mrs. 
Jakes  must  have  told  him,  and  her  protests  had  been 
uneasy  lies.  Margaret  carefully  avoided  looking  at  her ; 
in  this  hour,  all  were  to  receive  mercy  save  herself. 

Van  Zyl  went  on,  rasping  at  her  in  tones  quite  unlike 
the  thickish  staccato  voice  which  he  kept  for  his  unofficial 
moments.  That  voice  she  would  never  hear  again;  im- 
possible for  her  ever  to  regain  the  status  of  a  person  in 
whom  the  police  have  no  concern. 

"You  '11  save  yourself  trouble  by  speaking  up  and 
wasting  no  time  about  it,"  he  urged,  with  the  kind  of 
harsh  good  nature  a  policeman  may  use  to  the  offender 
who  provides  him  with  employment.  "You  've  got  to 
do  it,  you  know.  How  do  you  get  hold  of  your  nigger- 
friend  when  you  want  him?" 

285 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

She  shook  her  head  without  speaking. 

''Answer!''  he  roared  suddenly,  so  that  she  started 
in  her  chair.  ''What  's  the  arrangement  you  Ve  got 
with  him?  None  of  your  airs  with  me,  my  girl.  Out 
with  it,  now — what  's  the  trick?" 

She  looked  at  him  affrightedly;  he  seemed  about  to 
spring  upon  her  from  his  chair  and  dash  at  her  to  wring 
an  answer  out  of  her  by  force.  But  from  the  sofa, 
where  Ford  sat,  with  his  head  in  his  hands,  came  no 
sign.  Only  Mrs.  Jakes,  frozen  where  she  sat,  uttered 
a  vague  moan. 

''Wha— what 's  this?" 

The  door  opened  noiselessly  and  Dr.  Jakes  showed  his 
face  of  a  fallen  cherub  in  the  opening,  with  sleepy  eyes 
mildly  questioning.  Margaret  saw  him  with  quick  re- 
lief ;  the  intolerable  situation  must  change  in  some  man- 
ner by  his  arrival. 

''I  heard — I  heard — was  it  you  shouting,  Van  Zyl?" 
he  inquired,  stammeringly,  as  he  came  in. 

"Yes,"  replied  the  sub-inspector,  shortly. 

'*0h!"  Jakes  felt  uncertainly  for  his  straggling 
mustache.  ''Whom  were  you  shouting  at?"  he  in- 
quired, after  a  moment  of  hesitation. 

"I  was  speaking  to  her,"  replied  the  other  impa- 
tiently. 

The  doctor  followed  the  movement  of  his  hand  and 
the  light  of  his  spectacles  focused  on  Margaret  stupidly. 

"Well."  He  seemed  baffled.  "Miss  Harding,  you 
mean,  eh?" 

The  sub-inspector  nodded.  "You  're  interrupting  an 
inquiry.  Dr.  Jakes." 

"Oh."  Again  the  doctor  seemed  to  wrestle  with 
thoughts.     "Am  I?" 

286 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

*'Yes.     You  '11  excuse  us,  but — " 

**No/'  said  Jakes,  with  an  appearance  of  grave 
thought.  **No;  certainly  not.  You — you  mustn't 
shout  here." 

**Look  here,"  began  Van  Zyl. 

The  doctor  turned  his  back  on  him  and  came  over 
to  Margaret,  treading  lumberingly  across  the  worn  car- 
pet. 

** Can't  allow  shouting,"  he  said.  *'It  means — ^tem- 
perature. I — I  think  you  'd  better — ^yes,  you  'd  better 
go  and  lie  down  for  a  while.  Miss  Harding." 

He  was  as  vague  as  a  cloud,  a  mere  mist  of  benevo- 
lence. 

As  unexpectedly  and  almost  as  startlingly  as  Van 
ZyVs  sudden  loudness,  Mrs.  Jakes  spoke  from  her 
chair. 

*'You  must  take  the  doctor's  advice,  Miss  Harding," 
she  said. 

Margaret  rose,  obediently,  her  letters  in  her  hand. 
Van  Zyl  rose  too. 

*^Once  and  for  all,"  he  said  loudly,  ''I  won't  allow 
any—" 

**I  '11  report  you,  Van  Zyl,"  said  the  little  doctor, 
huskily.  '*You  're — ^you  're  endangering  life — way 
you  're  behaving.  Go  with  Mrs.  Jakes,  Miss  Hard- 
ing." 

You  *ll  report  me,"  exclaimed  Van  Zyl. 

Ye-es,"  said  Jakes,  foggily.     **I — I  call  Mr.  Ford 


X  C     CO, 

to  witness — " 


He  turned  quaveringly  towards  the  couch  and  stopped 
abruptly. 

*'What  's  this?"  he  cried,  in  stronger  tones,  and 
walked  quickly  toward  the  bent  figure  of  the  young 

287 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

man.  "Van  Zyl  I — I  hold  you  responsible.  You  Ve 
done  this — with  your  shouting.'' 

Margaret  was  in  the  door ;  she  turned  to  see  the  doctor 
raise  Ford's  head  and  lift  it  back  against  the  cushions. 
Van  Zyl  went  striding  towards  them  and  aided  to  place 
him  on  his  back  on  the  couch.  As  the  doctor  stood  up 
and  stepped  back,  she  saw  the  thin  face  with  the  high 
spot  of  red  on  each  cheek  and  the  blood  that  ran  down 
the  chin  from  the  wry  and  painful  mouth. 

** Hester,"  Dr.  Jakes  spoke  briskly.  "The  ergotin — 
and  the  things.     In  the  study;  you  know." 

"I  know."  And  Mrs.  Jakes — ^so  her  name  was  Hes- 
ter— ran  pattering  off. 

They  shut  Margaret  out  of  the  room,  and  she  sat  on 
the  bottom  step  of  the  stairs,  waiting  for  the  news  Mrs. 
Jakes  had  promised,  between  breaths,  to  bring  out  to 
her.  Van  Zyl,  ordered  out  unceremoniously — the  doc- 
tor had  had  a  fine  peremptory  moment — and  allowing  a 
certain  perturbation  to  be  visible  on  the  regulated  equa- 
nimity of  his  features,  stood  in  the  hall  and  gave  her 
side  glances  that  betrayed  a  disturbed  mind. 

"Miss  Harding,"  he  said  presently,  after  long 
thought;  "I  hope  you  don't  think  it  's  any  pleasure  to 
me  to  do  all  this?" 

Margaret  shook  her  head.  "You  can  do  what  you 
like,"  she  said.     "I  shan't  complain." 

"It  isn't  that,"  he  answered  irritably,  but  she  inter- 
rupted him. 

"I  don't  care  what  it  is,"  she  said.  "I  don't  care;  I 
don't  care  about  anything.  Stand  there,  if  you  like, 
or  come  and  sit  here;  but  don't  talk  any  more  till  we 
know  what  's  happened  in  there. ' ' 

Sub-inspector  Van  Zyl  coughed,  but  after  certain  hes- 
288 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

itation,  he  made  up  his  mind.  When  Mrs.  STakes  came 
forth,  tiptoe  and  pale  but  whisperingly  exultant,  she 
found  them  sitting  side  by  side  on  the  stairs  in  the  atti- 
tude of  amity,  listening  in  strained  silence  for  sounds 
that  filtered  through  the  door  of  the  room.  She  was 
pressed  and  eager,  with  no  faculty  to  spare  for  surprise. 

**  Splendid,  *'  she  whispered.  *' Everything  's  all 
right — thank  God.  But  if  it  hadn't  been  for  the  doc- 
tor, well!  I'm  going  to  fetch  the  boys  with  the 
stretcher  to  carry  him  up  to  his  room. ' ' 

*'I  'm  awfully  glad,"  said  Van  Zyl  as  she  hurried 
away. 

**So  am  I,''  said  Margaret.  *'But  I  ought  to  have 
seen  before  the  doctor  did.  I  ought  to  have  known — 
and  I  did  know,  really — that  he  would  have  taken 
you  by  the  throat  before  then,  if  something  hadn't  hap- 
pened to  him." 

She  had  risen,  to  go  up  the  stairs  to  her  room  and 
now  stood  above  him,  looking  down  serenely  upon  him. 

**Me  by  the  throat,"  exclaimed  Van  Zyl,  slightly 
shocked. 

Margaret  nodded. 

*'As  Kamis  would,"  she  said  slowly.  **And  choke 
you,  and  choke  you,  and  choke  you. ' ' 

She  went  up  then  without  looking  back,  leaving  him 
standing  in  the  hall,  baffled  and  outraged. 


i»  289 


CHAPTER  Xy 

NOT  the  stubbornness  of  a  race  too  prone  to  en- 
thusiasms, any  more  than '  increasing  years  and 
the  memento  mori  in  his  chest,  could  withhold  Mr.  Sam- 
son from  the  zest  with  which  he  initiated  each  new  day. 
Bathed,  razored  and  tailored,  he  came  out  to  the 
stoep  for  his  early  constitutional,  his  hands  joined  be- 
hind his  back,  his  soft  hat  cocked  a  little  forward  on 
his  head,  and  tasted  the  air  with  puffs  and  snorts  of 
appetite,  walking  to  and  fro  with  a  eupeptic  briskness 
in  which  only  the  closest  observer  might  have  detected 
a  delicate  care  not  to  over  do  it.  Nothing  troubled 
him  at  this  hour  of  the  morning ;  it  belonged  to  a  duty 
which  engrossed  it  to  the  exclusion  of  all  else,  and 
not  till  it  was  done  was  Mr.  Samson  accessible  to  the 
claims  of  time  and  place. 

He  looked  straight  before  him  as  he  strode ;  his  man- 
ner of  walking  did  not  allow  him  to  bestow  a  glance 
upon  the  Karoo  as  he  went.  Head  well  up,  chest  open 
— ^what  there  was  of  it — and  neck  swelling  over  the 
purity  of  his  collar :  that  was  Mr.  Samson.  It  was  only 
when  Mrs.  Jakes  came  to  the  breakfast-room  door  and 
set  the  gong  booming  melodiously,  that  he  relaxed  and 
came  back  to  a  mild  interest  in  the  immediate  earth, 
as  though  the  gong  were  a  permission  to  stand  at  ease 
and  dismiss.  He  halted  by  the  steps  to  wipe  his 
monocle  in  his  white  abundant  handkerchief,  and  sur- 

290 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

veyed,  perfunctorily  at  first  and  then  with  a  narrowing 
interest,  the  great  extent  of  brown  and  gray-green  that 
stretched  away  from  the  foot  of  the  steps  to  a  silvery 
and  indeterminate  distance. 

A  single  figure  was  visible  upon  it,  silhouetted 
strongly  against  the  low  sky,  and  Mr.  Samson  worked 
his  monocle  into  his  eye  and  grasped  it  with  a  pliant 
eyebrow  to  see  the  clearer.  It  was  a  man  on  a  horse, 
moving  at  a  walk,  minutely  clear  in  that  crystal  air 
in  spite  of  the  distance.  The  rider  was  far  from  the 
road,  apparently  aimless  and  at  large  upon  the  veld; 
but  there  was  something  in  his  attitude  as  he  rode 
that  held  Mr.  Samson  gazing,  a  certain  erectness  and 
ease,  something  conventional,  the  name  of  which 
dodged  evasively  at  the  tip  of  his  tongue.  He  knew 
somebody  who  sat  on  a  horse  exactly  like  that;  dash 
it,  who  v/as  it,  now?  It  wasn't  that  Dutchman,  Du 
Preez,  nor  his  long-legged  youngster;  they  rode  like 
Dutchmen.  This  man  was  more  like — more  like — ah! 
Mr.  Samson  had  got  it.  The  only  folk  who  had  that 
look  in  the  saddle  were  troopers;  this  must  be  a  man 
of  the  Mounted  Police. 

A  tinge  of  annoyance  colored  his  thoughts,  for  the 
far  view  of  the  trooper,  slowly  quartering  the  land, 
brought  back  to  his  mind  a  matter  of  which  it  had 
been  purged  by  the  ritual  morning  march  along  the 
stoep,  and  he  found  it  returning  again  as  distasteful 
as  ever.  He  had  been  made  a  party  to  its  details  by 
Mrs.  Jakes,  when  he  inquired  regarding  Ford's  break- 
down. The  communication  had  taken  place  at  the  foot 
of  the  stairs,  when  he  was  preparing  to  ascend  to 
bed,   on  the  evening  of  Van  Zyl's  visit.    At  dinner 

291 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

he  had  noted  no  more  than  that  Ford  was  absent  and 
that  Margaret  was  uneasy;  he  kept  his  question  till 
her  skirt  vanished  at  the  bend  of  the  stairs. 

*  *  I  say ;  what  's  up  ? "  he  asked  then. 

Mrs.  Jakes,  standing  by  to  give  good  night,  as  her 
wont  was,  fluttered.  She  gave  a  little  start  that  shook 
her  clothes  exactly  like  the  movement  of  an  agitated 
bird  in  a  cage,  and  stared  up  at  him,  rather  breath- 
lessly, while  he  leaned  against  the  balustrade  and 
awaited  her  answer. 

'*I  don't  know  what  you  mean.*'  It  was  a  formula 
that  always  gave  her  time  to  collect  her  thoughts. 

*'0h,  yes,  you  do,"  insisted  Mr.  Samson,  with  severe 
geniality.  **Ford  laid  up  and  Miss  Harding  making 
bread  pills,  and  all  that.     What  's  the  row  ? ' ' 

Mrs.  Jakes  regarded  him  with  an  eye  as  hard  and 
as  wary  as  a  fowl's,  and  then  looked  round  to  see  that 
the  study  door  was  securely  shut. 

*'I  'm  afraid,  Mr.  Samson,"  she  said,  in  the  low 
tones  of  confidential  intercourse — ''I  'm  afraid  we  've 
been  mistaken  in  Miss  Harding." 

**Eh?    What's  that?" 

Old  Mr.  Samson  would  speak  as  though  he  were  ad- 
dressing a  numerous  company,  and  Mrs.  Jakes'  nerv- 
ousness returned  at  his  loud  exclamation.  She  made 
hushing  noises. 

"Yes,  but  what 's  all  this  nonsense?"  demanded  Mr. 
Samson.  **  Somebody  's  been  pullin'  your  leg,  Mrs. 
Jakes." 

"No,  indeed,  Mr.  Samson,"  Mrs.  Jakes  assured  him 
hastily,  as  though  urgent  to  clear  herself  of  an  imputa- 
tion. *  *  There  is  n  't  any  doubt  about  it, — I  'm  sorry  to 
Bay.    You  see,  Mr.  Van  Zyl  came  here  this  afternoon  and 

292 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

wanted  to  see  Miss  Harding  in  the  study.  Well,  she 
would  n't  go  to  him." 

'*Why  the  deuce  should  she?"  inquired  Mr.  Samson 
warmly.  *'Who  's  Van  Zyl  to  send  for  people  like 
this?" 

*'It  was  about  a  Kafir,"  said  Mrs.  Jakes.  "The 
police  are  looking  for  the  Kafir  and  Miss  Harding  re- 
fused to  help  them.     So — " 

Mr.  Samson's  lips  moved  soundlessly,  and  he  changed 
his  position  with  a  movement  of  lively  impatience. 

**Let  's  have  it  from  the  beginning,  please,  Mrs. 
Jakes,"  he  said,  with  restraint.  ''Can't  make  head  or 
tail  of  it — ^way  you  're  telling  it.  Now,  why  did  this 
ass  Van  Zyl  come  here  ? ' ' 

It  was  the  right  way  to  get  the  tale  told  forthright. 
His  indignation  and  his  scorn  fanned  the  spark  of 
spite  in  the  core  of  Mrs.  Jakes,  who  perceived  in  Mr. 
Samson  another  victim  to  Margaret's  duplicity.  She 
was  galled  by  the  constant  supply  of  champions  of  the 
girl's  cause  who  had  to  be  laid  low  one  after  the  other. 
She  addressed  herself  to  the  incredulity  and  anger  in 
the  sharp  old  face  before  her,  and  spoke  volubly  and 
low,  telling  the  whole  thing  as  she  knew  it  and  perhaps 
a  little  more  than  the  whole.  As  she  went  on,  she  be- 
came consumed  with  eagerness  to  convince  Mr.  Samson. 
Her  small  disfigured  hands  moved  jerkily  in  incomplete 
gestures,  and  she  rose  on  tiptoe  as  though  to  approach 
nearer  to  the  seat  of  his  intelligence.  He  did  not  again 
interrupt  her,  but  listened  with  intentness,  watching 
her  as  the  swift  words  tumbled  on  one  another's  heels 
from  her  trembling  lips.  His  immobility  and  silence 
were  agonizing  to  her. 

**So  that 's  why  I  say  that  we  've  been  mistaken  in 
293 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

Miss  Harding,"  she  concluded  at  last.  *'You  would n*t 
have  thought  it  of  her,  would  you,  Mr.  Samson?  And 
it  is  a  shocking  thing  to  come  across  here,  in  the  house, 
isn't  it r' 

Mr.  Samson  withdrew  a  hand  from  his  pocket, 
looked  thoughtfully  at  three  coins  in  the  palm  of  it,  and 
returned  them  to  the  pocket  again. 

*'You  're  quite  certain,'*  he  asked,  *'that  she  admitted 
the  kissin'?     There  's  no  doubt  about  that?" 

*  *  If  I  never  speak  another  word, ' '  declared  Mrs.  Jakes, 
with  fervor.  **If  I  die  here  where  I  stand.  If  I  never 
move  from  this  spot — those  were  her  exact  words.  It 
was  then  that  poor  Mr.  Ford  had  his  attack — he  was  so 
horrified. ' ' 

**Well,"  said  Mr.  Samson,  with  a  sigh,  after  another 
inspection  of  his  funds,  **so  that  's  the  trouble,  is  it?" 

**The  doctor  and  I  are  much  disturbed,"  continued 
Mrs.  Jakes.  '*  Naturally  disturbed.  Such  a  thing  has 
never  happened  here  before. ' ' 

Mr.  Samson  heaved  himself  upright  and  put  one  foot 
on  the  bottom  stair. 

*  *  It 's  only  ignorance,  of  course, ' '  he  said.  ' '  The  poor 
little  devil  don't  know  what  she  's  letting  herself  in 
for.  If  she  'd  only  taken  a  bad  turn  after  a  month 
or  so  and — and  gone  out,  Mrs.  Jakes,  we  'd  have  re- 
membered her  pleasantly  enough  then.  Now,  of  course, 
she  '11  have  this  story  to  live  with.  Van  Zyl  '11  put  it 
about ;  trust  him.     Poor  little  bally  fool. ' ' 

"I  'm  sorry  for  her,  too,  of  course,"  replied  Mrs. 
Jakes,  putting  out  her  hand  to  shake  his.  *'Only  of 
course  I  'm — I  'm  disgusted  as  well.  Any  woman  would 
be." 

**Yes,"  said  Mr.  Samson  thoughtfully,  eommencing 
294 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

the  ascent;  "yes,  she  11  be  sure  to  get  lots  of  that, 
now.*' 

It  was  a  vexation  that  abode  with  him  that  night  and 
through  the  next  day;  it  kept  him  from  the  sincere  re- 
pose which  is  the  right  of  straightforward  and  uncom- 
promising minds,  whose  cleanly-finished  effects  have  no 
loose  ends  of  afterthought  dangling  from  them  to  goad 
a  man  into  revising  his  conclusions.  Lying  in  the 
dark,  wide  awake  and  regretful,  he  had  a  vision  of  her 
in  her  room,  welcoming  its  solitude  and  its  freedom 
from  reproachful  eyes,  glad  now  not  of  fellows  and 
their  companionship  but  of  this  refuge.  It  gave  him 
vague  pain.  He  experienced  a  sense  of  resentment 
against  the  arrangement  and  complexity  of  affairs  that 
had  laid  open  this  gulf  at  Margaret's  feet,  and  made 
its  edges  slippery  to  trap  her.  A  touch  of  a  more 
personal  anger  entered  his  thoughts  as  he  dwelt  on  the 
figure  of  the  girl,  the  fine,  dexterous,  civilized  creature 
that  she  had  been.  She  had  known  how  to  hold  him 
with  a  pleasant  humor,  a  light  and  stimulating  irrever- 
ence, and  to  soften  it  to  the  point  at  which  she  bade 
him  close  his  eyes  and  kissed  him.  But — and  Mr.  Sam- 
son flushed  to  the  heat  at  which  men  swear — ^the  Kafir, 
the  roaming  criminal  nigger,  had  had  that  much  out 
of  her.  Mrs.  Jakes  had  not  been  faithful  to  detail  on 
that  head.  **Kiss,''  she  had  said,  not  **  kissed  her 
hand."  Mr.  Samson  might  have  seen  a  difference 
where  Van  Zyl,  lacking  his  pretty  discrimination  of  de- 
grees in  the  administration  and  reception  of  kisses,  had 
seen  none. 

The  morning  had  brought  no  counsel;  the  day  had 
delivered  itself  of  nothing  that  enlightened  or  con- 
soled him.    Margaret  had  managed  somehow,  after  a 

295 


FLOWER  0*  THE  PEACH 

manner  of  her  own,  to  withdraw  herself  from  his  im- 
mediate outlook,  and  there  were  neither  collisions  nor 
explanations.  It  was  not  so  much  that  she  preserved 
a  distance  as  avoided  contact,  so  that  meals  and  meet- 
ings in  the  drawing-room  or  about  the  house  suffered 
from  no  evidences  of  a  change  in  their  regard  for  each 
other.  The  adroitness  with  which  it  was  contrived 
moved  him  to  new  regrets;  she  might,  he  thought,  have 
done  so  well  for  herself,  whereas  now  she  was  wasted. 

This  was  the  second  morning  since  he  had  invaded 
Mrs.  Jakes'  confidences  at  the  foot  of  the  stairs  and 
extracted  her  story  from  her.  The  gong  at  the  break- 
fast-room door  made  soft  blurred  music  at  his  back 
while  he  stood  watching  the  remote  figure  of  the 
trooper,  sliding  slowly  across  the  skyline.  It  finished 
with  a  last  note  of  added  emphasis,  a  frank  whack  at 
the  middle  of  the  instrument,  and  he  turned  deliberately 
from  his  staring  to  obey  it. 

Mrs.  Jakes,  engine-driving  the  urn,  was  alone  in  the 
room  when  he  entered,  and  gave  him  good  morning  with 
the  smile  which  she  had  not  varied  for  years. 

**A  beautiful  day,  isn't  it?"  she  said. 

**0h,  perfect,"  agreed  Mr.  Samson,  receiving  a  cup 
of  coffee  from  her.  **I  say.  You  haven't  seen  any 
signs  of  Van  Zyl  to-day,  have  you?" 

*' To-day?  No,"  replied  Mrs.  Jakes,  surprised. 
"Were  you  expecting — did  he  say — ?" 

Mr.  Samson  shook  his  head.  **No;  I  don't  know  any- 
thing about  him,"  he  told  her.  **It  's  just  that  matter 
of  Miss  Harding,  you  know.  From  the  stoep,  just  now, 
I  was  watching  a  mounted  man  riding  slowly  about  on 
the  veld,  and  it  looks  as  if  they  were  arranging  a 
Bearch.     Eh?" 

296 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

^'Oh,  dear/'  exclaimed  Mrs.  Jakes,  '*I  do  hope  they 
won't  come  here  again.  I  've  never  had  any  trouble 
with  the  police  before.  And  Mr.  Van  Zyl,  generally 
so  gentlemanly — when  I  saw  how  he  treated  Miss  Hard- 
ing, I  was  really  sorry  for  her," 

Mr.  Samson  sniffed.  ''Man  must  be  a  cad,"  he  said. 
''Anyhow,  I  don't  see  what  right  he  's  got  to  put  his 
foot  inside  these  doors.  It  was  simply  a  bluff,  I  fancy. 
Next  time  he  comes,  I  hope  you  '11  let  me  know,  Mrs. 
Jakes.  Can't  have  him  treatin'  that  poor  little  fool 
like  that,  don't  y '  know." 

"But  they  've  got  a  right  to  search,  surely?"  pro- 
tested Mrs.  Jakes.  "And  it  never  does  to  have  the 
police  against  you,  Mr.  Samson.  I  had  a  cousin  once 
— at  least,  he  wasn't  exactly  a  cousin — but  he  took 
a  policeman's  number  for  refusing  to  arrest  a  man 
who  had  been  rude  to  him,  and  the  policeman  at  once 
took  him  in  custody  and  swore  the  most  dreadful  oaths 
before  the  magistrate  that  he  was  drunk  and  disor- 
derly. And  my  cousin — I  always  used  to  call  him  a 
cousin — was  next  door  to  a  teetotaller." 

"Perhaps  the  teetotaller  bribed  the  policeman,"  sug- 
gested Mr.  Samson,  seriously.  "Still — what  about 
Miss  Harding  ?  She  has  n  't  said  anything  to  you  about 
goin'  back  home,  has  she?" 

"No,"  said  Mrs.  Jakes.  She  let  the  teetotaller  pass  for 
the  time  being  as  the  new  topic  opened  before  her.  "But 
I  wanted  to  speak  to  you  about  that,  Mr.  Samson." 

"Best  thing  she  can  do,"  he  said  positively. 
"There  's  a  lot  of  people  at  Home  who  don't  mind 
niggers  a  bit.  Probably  would  n't  hurt  her  for  a  month 
and  her  doctors  can  spot  some  other  continent  for  her 
to  do  a  cure  in." 

297 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

**Now  I  'm  very  glad  to  hear  yon  say  so,  Mr.  Sam- 
son," declared  Mrs.  Jakes.  *'You  see,  what  to  do  with 
her  is  a  good  deal  on  our  minds — the  doctor's  and 
mine.  My  view  is — ^she  ought  to  go  before  the  story 
gets  about." 

*' Quite  right,"  agreed  Mr.  Samson. 

**But  Eustace — he  's  so  considerate,  you  know.  He 
thinks  of  her  feelings.  He  's  dreadfully  afraid  that 
she  'II  fancy  we  're  turning  her  out  and  be  hurt.  He 
really  doesn't  quite  see  the  real  state  of  affairs;  he 
has  an  idea  it  '11  all  blow  over  and  be  forgotten. ' ' 

Mr.  Samson  shook  his  head.  **Not  out  here,"  he 
said.  *  *  That  sort  of  story  don 't  die ;  it  lives  and  grows. 
Might  get  into  the  papers,  even." 

**Well,  now,"  Mrs.  Jakes'  voice  was  soft  and  per- 
suasive; *'do  you  mind  my  telling  the  doctor  how  you 
look  at  it?  He  doesn't  pay  any  attention  to  what  I 
say,  but  coming  from  you,  it  's  bound  to  strike  him. 
It  would  be  better  than  you  talking  to  him  about  it, 
because  he  would  n  't  care  to  discuss  one  of  his  patients 
with  another;  but  if  I  were  just  to  mention,  as  an 
argument,  you  know — " 

**0h,  certainly,"  acquiesced  Mr.  Samson,  ** certainly. 
Those  are  my  views;  anybody  can  know  'em.  Tell 
Jakes  by  all  means. ' ' 

** Thank  you,"  said  Mrs.  Jakes,  with  feeling.  **It 
does  relieve  me  to  know  that  you  agree  with  me.  And 
it  is  such  a  responsibility. ' ' 

Margaret's  entrance  shortly  afterwards  brought  their 
conference  to  a  close,  and  Mr.  Samson  was  able  to  re- 
turn to  his  food  with  undivided  attention. 

Margaret's  demeanor  since  the  exposure  was  a  phe- 
298 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

nomenon  Mrs.  Jakes  did  not  profess  to  understand. 
The  tall  girl  came  into  the  room  with  a  high  serenity 
that  stultified  in  advance  the  wan  little  woman's  ef- 
forts to  meet  her  with  a  remote  dignity;  it  suggested 
that  Mrs.  Jakes  and  her  opinions  were  things  already 
so  remote  from  her  interest  that  they  could  not  recede 
further  without  becoming  invisible.  What  she  lacked, 
in  Mrs.  Jakes'  view,  was  visible  scars,  tokens  of  punish- 
ment and  suffering;  she  could  conceive  no  other  at- 
titude in  a  person  who  stood  so  much  in  need  of  the 
mercy  of  her  fellows.  To  a  humility  commensurate 
with  her  disapproval,  she  would  have  offered  a  forbear- 
ance barbed  with  condescension,  peppered  balm  of  her 
own  brand,  the  distillation  of  her  narrow  and  pur- 
poseful soul.  As  it  was,  she  not  only  resented  the 
girl's  manner — she  cowered. 

**Good  morning,"  said  Margaret,  smiling  with  in- 
tention. 

**Good  morning,  Miss — ah — Miss  Harding,"  was  the 
best  Mrs.  Jakes  could  do. 

** Morning,"  responded  Mr.  Samson,  lifting  his  white 
head  jerkily,  hoping  to  convey  preoccupation  and  casual 
absence  of  mind.  **  Morning,  Miss  Harding.  Jolly 
day,  what?" 

**0h,  no  end  jolly,"  agreed  Margaret,  dropping  into 
her  place.     ''Yes,  coffee,  please,  Mrs.  Jakes." 

** Certainly,  Miss  Harding,"  replied  Mrs.  "Jakes,  who 
had  made  offer  of  none,  and  fumbled  inexpertly  with 
the  ingenious  urn  whose  chauffeur  and  minister  she 
was. 

''How  is  Mr.  Ford?"  inquired  Margaret  next. 

"Oh,  yes,"  chimed  in  Mr.  Samson,  anxious  to  pre- 
299 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

vent  too  short  a  reply;  **how  's  he  this  morning,  Mrs. 
Jakes.     Nicely,  thank  you,  and  all  that — eh  ? ' ' 

Mrs.  Jakes  was  swift  to  seize  the  opportunity  to  reply 
in  Mr.  Samson 's  direction  exclusively. 

**He  's  not  to  get  up  to-day,''  she  explained.  *'But 
he  's  doing  very  well,  thank  you.  When  I  asked  him 
what  he  'd  like  for  breakfast,  he  said:  *0h,  every- 
thing there  is,  please.'  But,  of  course,  he  's  had  a 
shock." 

*'Er — ^yes,"  said  Mr.  Samson  hurriedly.  *'I  '11  look 
him  up  before  lunch,  if  I  may. ' ' 

*' Certainly, "  said  Mrs.  Jakes  graciously. 

*'Good  idea,"  said  Margaret.     *'So  will  I." 

Mrs.  Jakes  shot  a  pale  and  desperate  glance  at  her 
and  then  looked  for  support  to  Mr.  Samson.  But  that 
leaning  tower  of  strength  was  eating  devotedly  and 
would  not  meet  her  eye. 

She  envisaged  with  inward  consternation  a  future 
punctuated  by  such  meals,  with  every  meal  partaking  of 
the  nature  of  a  hostile  encounter  and  every  encounter 
closing  with  a  defeat.  Her  respectability,  her  sad 
virtue,  her  record  clean  of  stain,  did  not  command 
heavy  enough  metal  to  breach  the  gleaming  panoply 
of  assurance  with  which  Margaret  opposed  all  her  at- 
tacks, and  she  felt  the  grievance  common  to  those  who 
are  ineffectually  in  the  right.  The  one  bright  spot  in 
the  affair  was  the  possibility  that  she  might  now  bend 
'Jakes  to  her  purpose,  and  be  deputed  to  give  the  girl 
notice  that  she  must  leave  the  Sanatorium.  She  felt 
she  could  quote  Mr.  Samson  with  great  effect  to  the 
doctor. 

''Mr.  Samson  feels  strongly  that  she  should  leave  at 
once.    He  said  so  in  the  plainest  words,"  she  would 

300 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

report,  and  Jakes  would  be  obliged  to  take  account  of 
it.  Hitherto,  her  hints,  her  suggestions  and  even  her 
supplications,  had  failed  to  move  him.  He  had  a  way, 
at  times,  of  producing  from  his  humble  and  misty  mild- 
ness a  formidable  obstinacy  which  brooked  no  opposi- 
tion. With  bent  head,  he  would  look  up  at  her  out  of 
the  corners  of  his  eyes,  while  she  added  plausibility 
to  volubility,  unmoving  and  immovable.  When  she  had 
done,  for  he  always  heard  her  ominously  to  an  end,  he 
would  shake  his  head  slightly  and  emit  a  negative.  It 
was  rather  impressive;  there  was  so  little  show  of  force 
about  it;  but  Mrs.  Jakes  had  long  known  that  it  be- 
tokened a  barrier  of  refusal  that  it  was  useless  to  hope 
to  surmount.  If  he  were  pressed  further,  he  would 
rouse  a  little  and  amplify  his  meaning  with  phrases  of 
a  deplorable  vulgarity  and  force.  In  his  medical 
student  days,  the  doctor  had  been  counted  a  capable 
hand  at  the  ruder  kinds  of  out-patient  work. 

The  last  time  she  had  pressed  him  to  decree  Mar- 
garet's departure  was  in  the  study,  where  he  sat  with 
his  coat  off  and  his  shirt-sleeves  turned  up,  as  though 
he  contemplated  an  evening  of  strenuousness ;  the 
bottles  and  glasses  were  grouped  on  the  desk  at  his 
elbow.  Mrs.  Jakes  had  represented  vivaciously  her 
sufferings  in  having  to  meet  Miss  Harding  and  contain 
the  emotions  that  effervesced  in  her  bosom.  She  sat  in 
the  patient's  chair,  and  carefully  guided  her  eyes  away 
from  the  drinking  apparatus.  The  doctor  had  uttered 
his  *'No''  as  usual,  and  she  tried,  against  her  better 
sense,  to  reason  with  him. 

*' There  's  me  to  think  of,  too,''  she  urged  anxiously. 
*  *  The  way  she  walks  past  me,  Eustace,  you  'd  think  I  'd 
never  had  a  silk  lining  in  my  life. ' ' 

301 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

'*No/'  said  the  doctor  again,  with  a  little  genteel 
cough  behind  three  fingers.  **No,  we  can't.  'T  would 
n't  do,  Hester.  Bringing  her  out  o'  bed  in  her  night- 
gown that  night — it  was  doing  her  dirt.  Yes,  I  know 
all  about  the  nigger,  and  dam  lucky  it  was  for  me 
she  'd  got  him  handy.  I  might  have  been  there  yet 
for  all  you  did.  And  as  for  silk  linings,  don't  you  get 
your  shirt  out,  Hester.     She  's  all  right." 

He  put  out  a  hand  to  the  whisky  bottle,  looking  at 
her  impatiently  with  red-rimmed  eyes,  and  she  had 
risen  with  a  sigh,  knowing  it  was  time  for  her  to  go. 
She  fired  one  parting  shot  of  sincere  feeling. 

*'Well,  I  suppose  I  've  got  to  suffer  in  silence,  if 
you  say  so,  Eustace,"  she  observed  resignedly.  *'But 
it  's  as  bad  as  if  we  kept  a  shop. ' ' 

But  as  the  mouthpiece  of  Mr.  Samson,  she  would  be 
better  equipped.  It  could  be  made  to  appear  to  Jakes 
that  remonstrances  were  in  the  air  and  that  there  was 
a  danger  of  losing  Samson  and  Ford,  and  he  would 
have  to  give  ground.  Mrs.  'Jakes  thought  well  of  the 
prospects  of  her  enterprise  now.  She  would  have  been 
alarmed  and  astonished  if  any  responsible  person  had 
called  her  spiteful  and  unscrupulous,  for  she  knew  she 
was  neither  of  these  things.  She  was  merely  creeping 
under  obstacles  that  she  could  not  climb  over,  going  to 
work  with  such  means  as  came  to  her  hand  to  secure 
an  entirely  worthy  end.  She  knew  her  own  mind,  in 
short,  and  if  it  had  wavered  in  its  purpose,  she  would 
have  known  it  no  longer. 

Margaret,  all  unconscious  of  the  ingenuity  that  spent 
itself  upon  her,  ate  a  leisurely  brealifast,  giving  Mr. 
Samson  ample  time  to  escape  to  the  stoep  alone  and 
establish  himself  there.     She  didn't  at  all  mind  being 

302 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

left  alone  with  Mrs.  Jakes.  That  lady's  stiffness  and 
the  facial  expressions  which  she  tried  on,  one  after 
the  other,  in  an  endeavor  to  make  her  countenance 
match  her  mind,  could  be  made  ineffective  by  the  simple 
process  of  ignoring  them  and  her  together.  By  dint  of 
preserving  a  seeming  of  contented  tranquillity  and 
speaking  not  one  word,  it  was  possible  to  abash  poor 
Mrs.  Jakes  utterly  and  leave  her  writhing  in  impotence 
behind  her  full-bodied  urn.  This  was  the  method  that 
commended  itself  to  Margaret  and  which  she  employed 
successfully.  Everybody  should  have  a  cut  at  her,  she 
had  decided;  she  would  not  baulk  one  of  them  of  the 
privilege;  but  Mrs.  Jakes  had  had  her  turn,  and  could 
not  be  permitted  to  cut  and  come  again. 

There  were  several  remarks  that  Mrs,  Jakes  might 
have  made  with  effect,  but  none  of  them  occurred  to 
her  till  Margaret  had  left  the  room,  departing  with  an 
infuriating  rustle  of  silk  linings.  Mrs.  Jakes  moved  in 
her  chair  to  see  her  cross  the  hall  and  go  out.  A  look 
of  calculation  overspread  her  sour  little  face. 

**I  didn't  notice  the  silk  in  that  one,'*  she  murmured 
thoughtfully. 

Mr.  Samson,  with  a  comparatively  recent  weekly 
edition  of  the  Cape  Times  to  occupy  him  did  not  notice 
her  rubber-soled  approach  till  her  shadow  fell  on  the 
page  he  was  reading.     He  looked  up  sharply. 

*'Ah,  Miss  Harding/'  he  said  weakly. 

She  leaned  with  her  back  against  the  rail,  looking 
down  at  him  in  his  basket  chair,  half -smiling. 

**You  want  to  speak  to  me,  don't  you?"  she  asked. 

Mr.  Samson  did  not  understand.  **Do  I?"  he  said. 
''Didlsayso?    I  wonder  what  it  was," 

"You  didn't  say  so,"  Margaret  answered,  **But  I 
303 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

know  you  do.  Yon  wouldn't  send  me  finally  to  Coven- 
try without  saying  anything  at  all,  would  you  ? ' ' 

*'Ah!"  He  made  a  weary  gesture  with  one  hand, 
as  though  he  would  put  the  subject  from  him.  ''But 
— but  I  'm  not  sending  you  to  Coventry,  my — Miss 
Harding,  I  mean.     Don't  think  it,  for  a  moment." 

He  shook  his  white  head  with  a  touch  of  sadness, 
looking  up  at  her  slender,  civilized  figure  as  she  stood 
before  him  with  a  gaze  that  granted  in  advance  every 
claim  she  could  make  on  his  consideration  and  for- 
bearance. 

**You  know  what  I  mean,"  said  Margaret  steadily. 

*'Do  I  though?  Well,  yes,  I  suppose  I  do,"  he 
said.  ** No  use  fumbling  with  it,  is  there?  And  you 're 
not  the  fumbling  kind.  Each  of  us  knows  what  the 
other  means  all  right,  so  what  's  the  use  of  talking 
about  it?" 

Margaret  would  not  let  him  off;  she  did  not  desire 
that  he  should  spare  her  and  could  see  no  reason  for 
sparing  him. 

**I  want  to  talk  about  it,  this  once,"  she  answered. 
*'You  won't  have  many  more  chances  to  tell  me  what 
you  think  of  me.  I  know,  of  course;  but  I  wasn't 
going  to  shirk  it.     I  've  disappointed  you,  haven't  I?" 

**I  don't  say  so,"  he  replied,  with  careful  gentleness. 
**I  don't  say  anything  of  the  kind.  Miss  Harding. 
You  took  your  own  line  as  you  'd  every  right  to  do.  If 
I  had — sort  of — imagined  you  were  different,  you  're 
not  to  blame  for  my  mistake.  God  knows  I  don't  set 
up  for  an  example  to  young  ladies.  Not  my  line  at 
all,  that  sort  of  thing." 

** Nothing  to  say,  then?"  queried  Margaret.  He 
304 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

shook  his  head  again.  ^'Tou  know,"  she  added,  *'I  'm 
not  a  bit  ashamed — not  of  anything. ' ' 

*'0f  course  you  're  not,"  he  agreed  readily.  **You 
did  what  you  thought  was  right." 

*'But  you  don't  think  so?"  she  persisted. 

*'Miss  Harding,"  replied  Mr.  Samson;  *'so  far  as  I 
can  manage  it,  I  don 't  thiijk  about  the  matter  at  all. ' ' 

Margaret  had  a  queer  impulse  to  reply  to  this  by 
bursting  into  tears  or  laughter,  whichever  should  offer 
itself,  but  at  that  moment  Mrs.  Jakes  came  out,  and 
restrained  a  too  obvious  surprise  at  the  sight  of  the 
pair  of  them  in  conversation.  Circumstances  were 
forever  lying  in  ambush  against  Mrs.  Jakes  and  deep- 
ening the  mystery  of  life  by  their  unexpected  poppings 
up. 

She  addressed  Mr.  Samson  and  pointedly  ignored 
Margaret. 

''Mr.  Ford  could  see  you  now,  if  you  cared  to  go 
up,"  she  announced. 

''Certainly,  certainly,"  said  Mr.  Samson,  with 
alacrity. 

Margaret  spoke,  smiling  openly  at  Mrs.  Jakes*  irrec- 
oncilable side-face. 

"Oh,  would  you  mind  if  I  went  first?"  she  asked. 
"I  rather  want  to  see  him." 

"By  all  means,"  agreed  Mr.  Samson,  with  the  same 
alacrity.  "I  'm  not  perishin'  to  inspect  him,  you 
know.     Tell  him  I  '11  look  him  up  afterwards." 

Mrs.  Jakes  turned  a  fine  bright  red,  and  swallowed 
two  or  three  times.  She  had  matured  a  plan  for  de- 
claring that  Ford  must  not  be  disturbed  again  after 
Mr.  Samson's  visit,  and  she  was  fairly  sure  that  Mar- 
20  305 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

garet  had  suspected  it.  She  watched  the  girl's  depar- 
ture with  angry  and  baffled  eyes. 

*'She  's  doing  it  on  purpose,"  was  her  thought. 
**She  swings  them  like  that  so  as  to  make  me  hear  the 
f row-f  row. ' ' 

Ford  was  propped  against  pillows  in  his  bed,  with 
most  of  the  books  in  the  house  piled  alongside  of  him 
on  chairs  and  a  bedside  table.  He  was  expecting  Mr. 
Samson  and  sang  out  a  hearty,  **Come  in;  don't  stand 
drumming  there,"  at  Margaret's  rap  on  the  door. 

*'It 's  me,"  announced  Margaret,  pushing  it  open; 
**not  Mr.  Samson.  He  '11  look  you  up  afterwards.  Do 
you  mind  ? ' ' 

He  flushed  warmly,  staring  at  her  unexpected  ap- 
pearance. 

*'0f  course  I  don't  mind,"  he  said.  ''It  's  awfully 
good  of  you.  If  you  'd  shove  these  books  off  on  the 
floor,  I  could  offer  you  a  chair. ' ' 

Margaret  did  as  he  suggested,  but  rose  again  at  once 
and  set  the  door  wide  open. 

**The  proprieties,"  she  remarked,  as  she  returned  to 
her  seat.  **Also  Mrs.  Jakes.  That  keyhole  might 
tempt  her  beyond  her  strength." 

The  room  was  a  large  one,  with  a  window  to  the 
south  full  of  sunshine  and  commanding  nothing  but  the 
eternal  unchanging  levels  of  the  Karoo  and  the  hard 
sky  rising  from  its  edge.  Its  walls  were  rainbow-hued 
with  unframed  canvasses  clustering  upon  them,  exem- 
plifying Ford's  art  and  challenging  the  view  through 
the  window.  She  liked  vaguely  the  spareness  of  the 
chamber's  equipment  and  its  suggestions  of  uncompro- 
mising masculinity.  The  row  of  boots  and  shoes,  with 
trees  distributed  among  the  chief  of  them,  the  leather 

306 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

trunks  against  the  wall,  the  photographs  about  the 
dressing  table,  and  the  iron  bath  propped  on  end  under 
the  window, — these  trifles  seemed  all  to  corroborate  the 
impression  she  had  of  their  owner.  They  were  so 
consistent  with  the  Ford  she  knew,  units  in  the  sum  of 
him. 

**Well,"  she  said,  looking  at  him  frankly;  **are  we 
going  to  talk  or  just  exchange  civilities?" 

**We  won't  do  that,"  he  answered,  meeting  her  look. 
*  *  Civilities  be  blowed,  anyhow. '  * 

**But  I  'd  like  to  ask  you  how  you  feel,  first  of  all," 
said  Margaret. 

**0h,  first-rate.  I  'd  get  up  if  it  wasn't  for  Jakes," 
he  assured  her  eagerly.  *'And  I  say,"  he  added,  with 
a  quick  touch  of  awkwardness,  **I  hope,  really,  you 
haven't  been  bothering  about  me,  and  thinking  it  was 
that  affair  in  the  drawing-room  that  made  the  trouble. 
Because  it  wasn't,  you  know.  I  'd  felt  something  of 
the  kind  coming  on  before  lunch.  Jakes  says  that 
running  up  stairs  may  have  done  it — thing  I  'm  always 
forgetting  I  mustn't  do.  A  chap  can't  always  be  think- 
ing of  his  in'ards,  can  he?" 

*  'No, ' '  agreed  Margaret. 

She  recognized  a  certain  tone  of  politeness,  of  civil 
constraint,  in  his  manner  of  speaking.  He  was  doing 
his  best  to  be  trivial  and  ordinary,  but  she  could  not  be 
deceived. 

*'It  was  rotten,  though,"  he  went  on  quickly.  ''That 
brute  Van  Zyl — ^look  here!  I  'm  most  fearfully  sorry 
I  wasn't  able  to  put  a  stop  to  his  talk.  Miss  Harding. 
It  makes  me  sick  to  think  of  you  being  badgered  by  that 
fellow." 

*'It  didn't  hurt  me,"  said  Margaret  thoughtfully. 
307 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

'^All  that  is  nothing.  But  are  n't  we  being  rather  civil, 
after  all  r' 

He  made  a  slight  grimace.  He  looked  very  frail 
against  the  pillows,  with  his  nervous,  sun-tanned  hands 
fidgeting  on  the  coverlet.  One  button  of  his  pyjamas 
was  loose  at  the  throat,  and  let  his  lean  neck  be  seen, 
with  the  tan  stopping  short  where  the  collar  came  and 
giving  place  to  white  skin  below. 

**0h,  well,''  he  said,  in  feeble  protest.  **Why 
bother?" 

*'I  thought  you  'd  want  to,"  replied  Margaret.  ^*I 
don't  expect  you  to — to  approve,  but  I  did  rely  on 
your  bothering  about  it  all  a  little.  But  if  you  'd 
rather  not,  that  ends  the  matter. ' ' 

*^I  didn't  mean  it  like  that,"  he  said. 

'*Tell  me,"  demanded  Margaret;  ** don't  you  think 
I  owe  you  an  explanation  ? ' ' 

He  considered  her  gravely  for  some  seconds. 

**Yes,"  he  answered  finally.  **I  think  you  ought  to 
tell  me  about  it. ' ' 

**I  'm  willing  to,"  she  said  earnestly.  *'0h,  I 
wanted  to  often  and  often  before.  But  I  had  to  be 
careful.  This  Kafir  is  in  danger  of  arrest  by  Mr.  Van 
Zyl,  and  though  he  could  easily  clear  himself  before 
a  court,  you  know  what  it  means  for  a  native  to  be 
arrested  by  him.  He  *  takes  the  kick  out  of  them.'  So 
I  wasn't  really  free  to  speak." 

** Perhaps  you  weren't,"  granted  Ford.  **But  you 
were  free  to  keep  away  from  him,  and  from  niggers 
in  general — were  n  't  you  ? ' ' 

*  *  Quite, ' '  agreed  Margaret.  * '  It  is  n  't  niggers  in  gen- 
eral, though — it  's  just  this  one. ' ' 

She  leaned  forward,  with  both  elbows  on  the  edge 
308 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

of  the  bed  and  her  fingers  intertwined.  She  felt  that 
the  color  had  mounted  in  her  face,  but  she  was  sedulous 
to  keep  her  eyes  on  his. 

**He  's  a  nigger — yes,"  she  said;  ''black  as  your  hat, 
and  all  that.  But  there  's  a  difference.  This — nigger 
— I  hate  that  word — was  taken  away  when  he  was  six 
years  old  and  brought  up  in  England.  He  was  prop- 
erly educated  and  he  's  a  doctor,  a  real  doctor  with 
diplomas  and  degrees,  and  he  's  come  out  here  to  try 
and  help  his  own  people.  As  yet,  he  can't  even  speak 
Kafir,  and  he  's  had  a  fearful  time  ever  since  he  landed. 
Talking  to  him  is  just  like  talking  to  any  one  else. 
He  's  read  books  and  knows  a  bit  about  art,  and  all 
that;  and  he  's  ever  so  humble  and  grateful  for  just 
a  few  words  of  talk.  He  's  out  there  in  the  veld,  all 
day  and  all  night,  lonely  and  hunted.  Of  course  I 
spoke  to  him  and  was  as  friendly  as  I  could  be.  Don't 
you  see,  Mr.  Ford?    Don't  you  see?" 

He  nodded  impartially. 

* '  Yes,  I  see, ' '  he  answered.     * '  Well  ? ' ' 

**Well,  that's  all,"  said  Margaret.  ''Oh,  yes — ^you 
mean  the — the  kiss?  That  was  absolutely  nothing.  I 
used  to  make  him  talk  and  he  'd  been  telling  me  about 
how  hard  it  was  to  make  a  start  with  his  work,  and 
how  grateful  he  was  to  me  for  listening  to  him,  and 
I  said  there  was  no  need  to  be  so  grateful,  and  that  it 
was  a  noble  thin^  he  had  undertaken  and  that — yes — 
that  I  'd  always  be  proud  I  'd  been  a  friend  of  his. 
I  held  out  my  hand  as  I  was  saying  this,  and  instead  of 
shaking  it,  he  kissed  it. ' ' 

"That  was  what  the  blackmailer  saw,  was  it?"  asked 
Ford.  Margaret  nodded.  "By  the  way,  who  paid 
him?" 

309 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

''E&  did/'  Margaret  answered.  *'I  wouldn't  have 
paid  a  penny.     He  insisted  on  paying." 

She  was  watching  him  anxiously.  He  was  frowning 
in  deep  thought.  She  felt  her  heart  beat  more  rapidly 
as  he  remained  for  a  time  without  answering. 

*^It  was  worth  paying  for,  if  the  fellow  had  kept 
faith,"  he  said  at  last.  **The  whole  thing  's  in  that 
— you  don't  know  what  such  a  secret  is  worth.  It  's 
the  one  thing  that  binds  people  together  out  here, 
Dutch  and  English,  colonials  and  Transvaalers  and  all 
the  rest — the  color  line.     But  you  didn't  know." 

*^0h,  yes,"  Margaret  made  haste  to  correct  him.  **I 
did  know.  But  I  didn't  care  and  I  don't  care  now. 
I  'm  not  going  to  take  that  kind  of  thing  into  account 
at  all.  I  won't  be  bullied  by  any  amount  of  preju- 
dices." 

**It  isn't  prejudice,"  said  Ford  wearily.  ** Still — 
we  can't  go  into  all  that.  I  'm  glad  you  explained  to 
me,  though." 

**You  're  wondering  still  about  something,"  Margaret 
said.  She  could  read  the  doubt  and  hesitation  that  he 
strove  to  hide  from  her.  '*Do  let  's  have  the  whole  thing 
out.    What  is  it?" 

He  had  half -closed  his  eyes  but  now  he  opened  them 
and  surveyed  her  keenly. 

**You  've  told  me  how  reasonable  the  whole  thing 
was,"  he  said,  in  deliberate  tones.  **It  was  reasonable. 
That  part  of  it  's  as  right  as  it  can  be.  I  understand 
the  picturesqueness  of  it  all  and  the  sadness ;  it  is  a  sad 
business.  I  could  understand  your  connection  with  it, 
too,  in  spite  of  the  man's  hiding  from  the  police,  if  only 
he  wasn't  a  nigger.     Beg  pardon — a  negro." 

Margaret  was  following  his  words  intently. 
310 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

''What  has  that  got  to  do  with  it?"  she  asked. 

*'You  don't  see  it?''  inquired  Ford.  ''Didn't  you 
find  it  rather  awful,  being  alone  with  him  ?  Did  n  't  it 
make  you  creepy  when  he  touched  your  hand?" 

He  was  curious  about  it,  apart  from  her  share  in  the 
matter.  He  was  interested  in  the  impersonal  aspect  of 
the  question  as  well. 

**I  didn't  like  his  face,  at  first,"  admitted  Margaret. 

*'And  afterwards?" 

''Afterwards  I  didn't  mind  it,"  she  replied.  "I  'd 
got  used  to  it,  you  see." 

He  nodded.  Upon  her  answer  he  had  dropped  his 
eyes  and  was  no  longer  looking  at  her. 

"Well,  that's  all,"  he  said.  "Don't  trouble  about 
it  any  more.  You  've  explained  and — if  you  care  to 
know — I  'm  quite  satisfied." 

Margaret  sat  slowly  upright. 

"No,  you  're  not,"  she  answered.  "That  isn't  true; 
you  're  not  satisfied.  You  're  disappointed  that  I  did  n  't 
shrink  from  him  and  feel  nervous  of  him.  You  are — 
you  are !  I  'm  not  as  good  as  you  thought  I  was,  and 
you  're  disappointed.  Why  don 't  you  say  so  ?  What  's 
the  use  of  pretending  like  this?" 

Ford  wriggled  between  the  sheets  irritably. 

"You  're  making  a  row,"  he  said.  "They  '11  hear 
you  downstairs." 

Margaret  had  risen  and  was  standing  by  her  chair. 

"I  don't  care,"  she  said,  lowering  her  voice  at  the 
same  time.  "But  why  aren't  you  honest  with  me? 
You  say  you  're  satisfied  and  all  the  time  you  're  think- 
ing: 'A  nigger  is  as  good  as  a  white  man  to  her.'  " 

"  I  'm  not, ' '  protested  Ford  vigorously. 

"I  didn't  shrink,"  said  Margaret.  ^"My  flesh  didn't. 
311 


FLOWER  0*  THE  PEACH 

crawl  once.  When  I  shake  his  hand,  it  feels  just  the 
same  as  yours.  That  disgusts  you — I  know.  There  's 
something  wanting  in  me  that  you  thought  was  there. 
Mrs.  Jakes  has  got  it;  her  flesh  can  crawl  like  a  cater- 
pillar ;  but  I  have  n  't.  You  did  n't  know  that  when  you 
asked  me  not  to  go  away,  did  you?" 

*'Sit  down,"  begged  Ford.  ''Sit  down  and  let  me 
ask  you  again. ' ' 

''No,"  said  Margaret.  "You  shan't  overlook  things 
like  that.  I  'm  going — agoing  away  from  here  as  soon 
as  I  can.     I  'm  not  ashamed  and  I  won't  be  indulged." 

She  walked  towards  the  door.  There  was  a  need  to  get 
away  before  the  tears  that  made  her  eyes  smart  should 
overflow  and  expose  themselves. 

"Come  back,"  cried  Ford.  "I  say — give  a  fellow  a 
chance.     Come  back.     I  want  to  say  something." 

She  would  not  answer  him  without  facing  him,  even 
though  it  revealed  the  tears. 

"I  'm  not  coming,"  she  replied,  and  went  out. 

She  had  fulfilled  her  purpose ;  they  had  all  had  their 
cut  at  her,  save  Dr.  Jakes,  who  would  not  take  his  turn, 
and  Mrs.  Jakes,  to  whom  that  privilege  was  not  due. 
Only  one  of  them  had  swung  the  whip  effectually  and 
left  a  wheal  whose  smart  endured. 

Mrs.  Jakes  did  not  count  on  being  left  out  of  the 
festival.  Her  rod  was  in  pickle.  She  was  on  hand 
when  the  girl  came  out  of  her  room,  serene  again  and 
ready  to  meet  any  number  of  Mrs.  Jakeses. 

"Oh,  Miss  Harding." 

Mrs.  Jakes  arrested  her,  glancing  about  to  see  that  the 
corridor  was  empty. 

"The  doctor  wishes  me  to  tell  you,"  said  Mrs.  Jakes, 
aiming  her  words  at  the  girl's  high  tranquillity,  "that 

312 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

he  considers  you  had  better  make  arrangements  to  re- 
move to  some  other  establishment.  You  understand,  of 
course?'* 

**0f  course/'  agreed  Margaret. 

**A  month's  notice,  then,"  said  Mrs.  Jakes  smoothly. 
* '  That  is  usual.  But  if  it  should  be  convenient  for  you 
to  go  before,  the  doctor  will  be  happy  to  meet  you." 

*'Very  good  of  the  doctor,"  smiled  Margaret,  and 
walked  on,  her  skirts  rustling. 


313 


CHAPTER  XVI 

VOICES  below  the  window  of  her  room  that  alter- 
nated briskly  and  yet  guardedly,  drew  Margaret 
to  look  out.  On  the  stoep  beneath  her,  Fat  Mary  was  ex- 
changing badinage  of  the  most  elementary  character 
with  a  dusty  trooper  of  the  Mounted  Police,  who  stood 
on  the  ground  under  the  railing  with  his  bridle  looped 
over  his  arm  and  his  horse  awaiting  his  pleasure  at  his 
elbow.  Seen  from  above,  the  main  feature  of  Fat  Mary 
was  her  red-and-yellow  headkerchief  tied  tightly  over 
her  large  and  globular  skull,  presenting  the  appearance 
of  a  strikingly-colored  bubble  at  the  summit  of  her 
person. 

'*You  savvy  tickled'  the  trooper  was  saying.  *'By'- 
mby  I  come  up  there  and  tickle  you.  You  like  that 
plenty. ' ' 

Fat  Mary  giggled  richly.  **You  lie,"  she  returned, 
with  immense  enjoyment. 

** Tickle  do  you  good,*'  rejoined  the  trooper. 

He  was  a  tall  lathy  man,  with  the  face  of  a  tired 
Punchinello,  all  nose  and  chin  with  a  thin  fastidious 
mouth  hidden  between.  His  eyes  wandered  restlessly 
while  he  talked  as  though  in  search  of  better  matter  for 
his  interest ;  and  he  chaffed  the  stout  Kafir  woman  with 
a  mechanical  ease  suggesting  that  this  was  a  trick  he 
had  practised  till  it  performed  itself.  The  tight-fitting 
blue  uniform,  in  spite  of  the  dust  that  was  thick  upon 
it,  and  all  his  accoutrement  of  a  horseman,  lent  a  dandi- 

314 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

fied  touch  to  his  negligent  attitude ;  and  he  looked  like — 
what  he  probably  was — one  of  those  gentlemen  of  sport- 
ing proclivities  in  whom  the  process  of  decay  is  arrested 
by  the  preservative  discipline  and  toil  of  service  in  a 
Colonial  force. 

Margaret,  examining  him  unseen  from  above,  with  hat- 
pins in  her  hands,  found  his  miserable  and  well-bred 
face  at  once  repellent  and  distantly  terrible ;  he  seemed 
to  typify  so  completely  what  she  had  learned  to  fear  in 
the  police,  a  humanity  at  once  weak  and  implacable. 
His  spurs,  his  revolver,  his  authority  were  means  of  in- 
flicting pain  given  into  feeble  hands  to  supply  the  place 
of  power.  Within  a  few  days  she  had  come  to  know 
the  dread  which  the  street-hawker  in  the  gutter  feels 
for  the  policeman  on  the  pavement  who  can  destroy  him 
when  he  chooses.  It  did  not  call  for  much  imagination 
to  see  how  dreadful  the  bored  perfunctory  man  below 
might  become  when  once  he  had  fastened  on  his  quarry 
and  had  it  to  himself  to  exercise  upon  it  the  arts  of  which 
the  revolver  and  the  rest  were  the  appliances. 

His  presence  under  her  window  was  a  sign  that  the 
search  for  Kamis'  hiding-place  was  still  going  forward. 
At  any  hour  of  the  day  now  the  inmates  of  the  Sana- 
torium might  lift  up  their  eyes  to  see  the  unusual  phe- 
nomenon of  a  human  being  sharing  with  them  the  soli- 
tude and  the  silence.  Van  Zyl  had  high  hopes  of  laying 
his  hands  on  the  mysterious  Kafir  who  had  conunitted 
the  crime  of  being  incomprehensible  to  nervous  kraals, 
whose  occupants  had  a  way  of  shaking  off  wonder  and 
alarm  by  taking  exercise  with  their  weapons  among  the 
cattle  of  their  neighbors.  The  Sanatorium,  under  his 
orders,  was  being  watched  for  any  indications  of  mes- 
sages passing  between  Margaret  and  the  Kafir,  and  the 

315 


FLOWER  0^  THE  PEACH 

dusty,  armed  men  came  and  went  continually,  a  succes- 
sion of  drilled  shoulders,  tanned,  unconcerned  faces,  and 
expressionless  eyes  puckered  against  the  sun's  stare. 

Their  chief  effect  was  to  keep  Margaret  in  a  state  of 
anxious  fear  lest  their  search  should  be  successful,  and 
she  should  be  a  witness  of  their  return,  riding  past  at 
the  walk  with  a  handcuffed  figure  trudging  helplessly 
before  them.  She  saw  in  painful  dreams  the  dust  that 
rose  about  them  cloudily  and  the  prisoner's  bowed  back 
as  he  labored  to  maintain  the  pace.  The  worst  of 
the  dreams  followed  their  progress  to  a  moment  when 
the  man  on  foot  flagged,  or  perhaps  fell,  and  one  of  the 
riders  pressed  forward  with  a  foot  disengaged  from  its 
stirrup  and  the  spur  lifted  to  rowel  him  to  livelier 
efforts.  Such  was  the  fruit  of  Van  Zyl's  pregnant  word 
when  he  spoke  of  prisoners  who  had  had  *'the  kick 
taken  out  of  them. ' ' 

She  had  had  no  opportunity  of  seeing  Paul,  to  send 
through  him  a  warning  message  to  Kamis,  since  her  in- 
terview with  Van  Zyl ;  but  on  this  day  she  had  glimpsed 
him  from  the  stoep,  as  he  moved  about  among  the  farm 
buildings,  and  she  lost  no  time  in  preparing  to  go  to 
him.  She  was  putting  on  her  hat  as  she  watched  the 
trooper  and  Fat  Mary. 

The  couple  of  them  were  still  at  work  upon  their  flirta- 
tion when  she  came  out  of  the  Sanatorium  and  descended 
the  steps.  The  man's  wandering  eyes  settled  on  her  at 
once  with  grateful  interest,  and  followed  her  as  she 
went  across  to  the  path  at  a  pace  suited  to  the  ardor  of 
the  sun.  His  Punchinello  features  brightened  almost 
hopefully. 

Fat  Mary,  observing  the  direction  of  his  gaze,  giggled 
afresh  and  gave  information  in  a  whisper. 

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FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

* '  What— her  ?     That  lady  there  ? ' ' 

Fat  Mary  nodded  corroboratively.  The  trooper  swore 
softly  in  mere  amazement. 

''You're  sure  that's  her?"  he  demanded.  ''Well, 
I  'm— '' 

He  stared  at  Margaret's  receding  back  with  a  frown 
of  perplexity,  then  drew  the  reins  over  his  horse's  head 
and  prepared  to  mount. 

"You  go  now?"  asked  Fat  Mary,  disappointed  at  the 
effect  of  her  news. 

"You  bet,"  was  the  answer,  as  he  swung  up  into  the 
saddle  and  moved  his  horse  on. 

Margaret  turned  as  the  sound  of  hoofs  padding  on  the 
dust  approached  from  behind  and  was  met  by  a  salute 
and  bold  avaricious  eyes  above  the  drooping  beak.  He 
reined  up  beside  her,  looking  down  from  the  height  of 
his  saddle  at  her. 

*'Miss  Harding,  isn't  it?"  he  said.  "May  I  ask 
where  you  're  goin '  ? " 

There  was  jocular  invitation  in  his  manner  of  saying 
it,  the  gallantry  of  a  man  who  despises  women. 

"I  'm  going  to  the  farm,  there,"  Margaret  answered. 
The  unexpected  encounter  had  made  her  nervous, 
and  she  found  herself  ill  at  ease  under  his  regard. 
"Why?" 

"Because  I  '11  ask  you  for  the  pleasure  of  accom- 
panyin'  you  so  far,  if  you  don't  mind,"  he  returned. 
"I  want  a  look  at  the  happy  man  you  're  goin'  to  see. 
Hope  you  don't  object?" 

"I  can't  stop  you,"  replied  Margaret.  "You  will  do 
as  you  please,  of  course." 

She  turned  and  walked  on,  careful  not  to  hurry  her 
steps.     The  trooper  rode  at  her  side,  and  though  she 

317 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

did  not  look  up,  she  felt  his  eyes  resting  on  her  profile 
as  they  went. 

**Bit  slow,  livin'  out  here.  Miss  Harding,"  he  re- 
marked, after  they  had  gone  for  a  minute  or  so  in  silence. 
**Not  what  you  Ve  been  use  to,  I  imagine.  Found  your- 
self rather  short  of  men,  didn't  you?" 

* '  No, "  replied  Margaret  thoughtfully ;  '  *  no. ' ' 

**0h,  come  now."  The  mounted  man  laughed  thinly, 
failing  utterly  to  get  his  tolerant  and  good-natured  ef- 
fect. *'If  you  'd  had  a  supply  of  decent  chaps  to  do 
the  right  thing  by  a  girl  as  pretty  as  you — admire  you, 
an'  flirt,  and  all  that,  I  mean — ^you  wouldn't  have  fallen 
back  on  this  nigger  we  're  lookin'  for,  would  you, 
now?" 

This  was  what  it  meant,  then,  to  have  one's  name 
linked  with  that  of  a  Kafir.  She  was  anybody 's  game ; 
not  the  lowest  need  look  upon  her  as  inaccessible.  She 
had  to  put  a  restraint  upon  herself  to  keep  from  quick- 
ening her  pace,  from  breaking  into  a  run  and  fleeing 
desperately  from  the  man  whose  gaze  never  left  her. 
Its  persistence,  though  she  was  aware  of  it  without  see- 
ing it,  was  an  oppression ;  she  imagined  she  could  detect 
the  taint  of  his  breath  blowing  hot  upon  her  as  she 
walked. 

He  saw  the  flush  that  rose  in  her  cheek,  and  laughed 
again. 

**You  needn't  answer,"  he  said.  *'I  can  see  for  my- 
self I  'm  right.  Lord,  whenever  was  I  wrong  when  it 
came  to  spottin'  a  girl's  feelings?  Say,  Miss  Harding 
— did  n  't  I  hit  it  first  shot  ?     Of  course  I  did. 

**0f  course  I  did,"  he  repeated  two  or  three  times, 
congratulating  himself.     **  Trust  me. 

**I  say,"  he  began  again  presently.  ''This  little 
318 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

meetin' — I  hope  it 's  not  goin'  to  be  the  last.  I  expect 
you  've  learnt  by  now  that  niggers  have  their  drawbacks, 
and  it  is  n  't  a  safe  game  for  you  to  play.  People  simply 
won't  stand  it,  you  know.  Now,  what  you  want  is  a 
friend  who  11  stand  by  you  and  show  you  how  to  make 
the  row  blow  over.  With  savvy  and  a  touch  of  tact,  it 
can  be  done.  Now,  Miss  Harding — I  don't  know  your 
Christian  name,  but  I  fancy  we  could  understand  each 
other  if  you  'd  only  look  up  and  smile. ' ' 

The  farm  was  not  far  now.  Paul  had  seen  them  com- 
ing and  was  standing  at  gaze  to  watch  them  approach, 
with  that  appearance  of  absorbed  interest  which  almost 
anything  could  bring  out.  Soon  he  must  see,  he  could 
not  fail  to  see,  that  she  was  in  distress  and  needing  aid, 
and  then  he  would  come  forward  to  meet  them. 

**No?"  the  trooper  inquired,  cajolingly.  **Come  now 
—one  smile.    No?    No?" 

He  waited  for  an  answer. 

**I  wouldn't  try  the  haughty  style,"  he  said  then. 
**Lord,  no.  You  wouldn't  find  it  pay.  After  the  nig- 
ger business,  haughtiness  is  off.  What  I  'm  offering  you 
is  more  than  most  chaps  would  offer;  it  isn't  every- 
body '11  put  on  a  nigger's  boots,  not  by  a  long  sight. 
Now,  we  don't  want  to  be  nasty  about  it,  do  we?  One 
smile,  or  just  a  word  to  say  we  understand  each  other, 
and  it  '11  be  all  right." 

It  was  insupportable,  but  now  Paul  was  coming  to- 
wards them,  shyly  and  not  very  fast. 

**Who  's  this  kid?"  demanded  the  trooper.  ** Quick, 
now,  before  he  's  here.     Look  up,  or  he  '11  smell  a  rat." 

Margaret  raised  her  eyes  to  his  slowly,  cold  fear  and 
disgust  mingling  in  her  mind.  He  met  her  with  a  smile 
in  which  relief  was  the  salient  character. 

319 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

''When  Mr.  Van  Zyl  hears  how  you  have  insulted  me,'* 
she  began  trembling. 

'*Eh?"  He  stared  at  her  suspiciously.  ''Van  ZylT' 
He  seemed  suddenly  enlightened.  ''I  say,  I  couldn't 
tell  you  'd — ^you  'd  made  your  arrangements.  Could  I, 
now  ?  I  would  n't  have  dreamed — look  here,  Miss  Hard- 
ing; I  'm  awfully  sorry.  Couldn't  we  agree  to  forget 
all  this?  You  can't  blame  a  chap  for  trying  his 
luck.'' 

She  did  not  entirely  understand ;  she  merely  knew  that 
what  he  said  must  be  monstrous.  No  clean  thing  could 
issue  from  that  hungry,  fastidious  mouth.  She  walked 
on,  leaving  him  halted  and  staring  after  her,  perturbed 
and  apprehensive.  His  patient  horse  stood  motionless 
with  stretched  neck;  he  sat  in  the  saddle  erect  as  to  the 
body,  with  the  easy  secure  seat  which  drill  had  made 
natural  to  him,  but  with  the  Punchinello  face  drooped 
forward,  watching  her  as  she  went.  He  saw  her  meet 
Paul,  saw  the  pair  of  them  glance  towards  him  and  then 
turn  their  backs  and  walk  down  to  the  farm  together. 
Pain,  defeat  and  patience  expressed  themselves  in  his 
countenance,  as  in  that  of  an  ignoble  Prometheus.  Pres- 
ently he  pulled  up  the  docile  horse's  head  with  a  jerk 
of  the  bridoon. 

"My  luck,"  he  said  aloud,  and  swung  his  horse  about. 

Paul  had  not  time  to  question  Margaret  as  to  her 
trouble,  for  she  spoke  before  he  could  frame  his  slow 
words. 

"Paul,"  she  cried,  "I  want  to  speak  to  you.  But— 
oh,  can  I  sit  down  somewhere?  I  feel — I  feel — I  must 
sit  down." 

She  looked  over  her  shoulder  nervously,  and  Paul's 
glance  followed. 

320 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

'^s  it  himr'  he  inquired.  *^Sit  here.  I  11  go  to 
him." 

** No/' she  said  vehemently.  ** Don't.  You  mustn't. 
Let 's  go  to  your  house.     I  want  to  sit  down  indoors. ' ' 

Her  senses  were  jangled ;  she  felt  a  need  of  relief  from 
the  empty  immensity  of  sun  and  earth  that  surrounded 
her. 

'  *  Come  on, ' '  said  Paul.    ' '  We  '11  go  in. ' ' 

He  did  not  offer  her  his  arm ;  it  was  a  trick  he  had  yet 
to  learn.  He  walked  at  her  side  between  the  kraals,  and 
brought  her  to  the  little  parlor  which  housed  and  was 
glorified  by  Mrs.  du  Preez's  six  rosewood  chairs,  uphol- 
stered in  velvet,  sofa  to  match,  rosewood  center-table 
and  the  other  furniture  of  the  shrine.  He  looked  at  her 
helplessly  as  she  sank  to  a  seat  on  the  ^*sofa  to  match." 

* '  You  want  some  water, ' '  he  said,  with  an  inspiration, 
and  vanished. 

Margaret  had  time  somewhat  to  recover  herself  before 
he  returned  with  his  mother  and  the  water. 

Mrs.  du  Preez  needed  no  explanations. 

**Now  you  '11  have  a  bit  of  respect  for  our  sun,  Miss 
Harding,"  she  said,  after  a  single,  narrow-eyed  look  at 
the  girl.  *'Hand  that  water  here,  Paul;  you  didn't 
bring  it  for  show,  did  you?  Well,  then.  And  just  you 
let  me  take  off  this  hat.  Miss  Harding.  Bond  Street, 
I  '11  bet  a  pound.  They  don't  build  for  this  sun  in 
Bond  Street.  Now  jus'  let  me  wet  this  handkerchief 
and  lay  it  on  your  forehead.     Now,  ain't  that  better?" 

She  turned  her  head  to  drive  a  fierce  whisper  at 
Paul. 

*  *  Get  out  0 '  this.     Come  in  by  an '  by. " 

** Thanks  awfully."  Margaret  shivered  as  the  drip- 
ping handkerchief  pressed  upon  her  brow  let  loose  drops 
21  321 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

that  gravitated  to  her  neck  and  zigzagged  under  the  col- 
lar of  her  blouse.  *'I  'm  feeling  much  better  now.  I  'd 
rather  sit  up,  really." 

**So  long  as  you  haven't  got  that  tight  feeling,"  con- 
ceded Mrs.  du  Preez. 

She  stood  off,  watching  the  girl  in  a  manner  that  ex- 
pressed something  striving  within  her  mind. 

*'A11  right  now?"  she  asked,  when  Margaret  had  got 
rid  of  the  wet  handkerchief. 

** Quite,"  Margaret  assured  her.  ** Thanks  ever  so 
much. ' ' 

Mrs.  du  Preez  arranged  the  glass  and  jug  neatly  upon 
the  iron  tray  on  which  they  had  made  their  appearance. 

'^Miss  Harding,"  she  said  suddenly.     ''I  know." 

' '  Oh  ?     What  do  you  know  ? ' '  inquired  Margaret. 

Mrs.  du  Preez  glanced  round  to  see  that  Paul  had 
obeyed  her. 

**I  know  all  about  it,"  she  answered,  with  reassuring 
frowns  and  nods.  *'Your  Fat  Mary  told  my  Christian 
Kafir  and  she  told  me.   About — about  Kamis ;  you  know. ' ' 

*a  see." 

The  story  had  the  spreading  quality  of  the  plague ;  it 
was  an  infection  that  tainted  every  ear,  it  seemed. 

**You  mean — you  'd  like  me  to  go?"  suggested  Mar- 
garet. 

*^No!    No!    no!" 

Mrs.  du  Preez  brought  both  hands  into  play  to  aid  her 
face  in  making  the  negatives  emphatic.  **Go?  Why,  if 
it  was  n  't  for  the  mercy  of  God  I  'd  be  in  the  same  box 
myself.  I  would — Me !  I  Ve  got  nothing  to  come  the 
heavy  about,  even  if  I  was  the  sort  that  would  do  it.  So 
jipw  ^ou  know. ' ' 

322 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

'  *  I  don 't  understand, ' '  said  Margaret.  * '  Do  you  mean 
that  you—?" 

*'I  mean,"  interrupted  Mrs.  du  Preez,  **that  if  it 
wasn't  for  that  Kafir  I  'd  ha'  been  hopping  in  hell  be- 
fore now ;  and  if  people  only  knew  it — gosh !  I  'd  have 
to  hide.  I  wanted  to  tell  you  so  's  you  should  know  there 
was  some  one  that  could  n  't  throw  any  stones  at  you. 
You  're  beginnin'  to  find  things  rather  warm  up  there, 
aren't  you?" 

Margaret  smiled.  The  true  kindness  of  Mrs.  du 
Preez 's  intention  moved  her ;  charity  in  this  quarter  was 
the  last  thing  she  had  expected  to  find. 

**A  little  warm,"  she  agreed.  ** Everybody  's  rather 
shocked  just  now,  and  Mrs.  Jakes  has  given  me  notice  to 
leave. ' ' 

''Has  she?"  demanded  Mrs.  du  Preez.  *'Well,  I  sup- 
pose it  was  to  be  expected.  I  've  known  that  woman  now 
for  more  years  than  I  could  count  on  my  fingers,  and 
I  've  always  had  my  doubts  of  her.  She  's  no  more 
got  the  spirit  of  a  real  lady  than  a  cow  has.  That  's 
where  it  is.  Miss  Harding.  She  can't  understand  that  a 
lady  's  got  to  be  trusted.  For  two  pins  I  'd  tell  her  so, 
the  old  cross-eyed  skellpot.  So  you  're  going?  Well, 
you  won 't  be  sorty. ' ' 

**But — ^how  did  you  come  across  Kamis?"  asked  Mar- 
garet. 

*'0h,  it  's  a  long  story.  I  was  clearin'  out  of  here — 
doing  a  bolt,  you  know,  an'  I  got  into  trouble  with  a  fel- 
ler that  was  with  me.  It  was  a  feller  named  Bailey  that 
was  stoppin'  here,"  explained  Mrs.  du  Preez,  who  had 
not  heard  the  whole  history  of  Margaret's  exposure. 
**He  was  after  a  bit  of  money  I  'd  got  with  me,  and  he 

323 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

was  startin'  in  to  kick  me  when  up  jumps  that  nigger 
and  down  goes  Bailey.     See?'* 

Margaret  saw  only  vaguely,  but  she  nodded. 

''That  's  Bailey,"  said  Mrs.  du  Preez,  drawing  her  at- 
tention to  the  Boy's  photograph.  ''Christian  warned 
me  against  smashing  it  when  I  wanted  to.  He  's  got 
notions,  Christian  has.  'Leave  it  alone,'  he  says;  *we  're 
not  afraid  of  it. '  So  of  course  I  had  to ;  but  I  'd  be 
more  'n  a  bit  thankful  if  it  was  gone.  I  can't  take  any 
pleasure  in  the  room  with  it  there." 

"I  could  help  you  in  that,  perhaps,"  suggested  Mar- 
garet. "You  've  helped  me.  It  was  sweet  of  you  to  tell 
me  what  you  did,  the  friendliest  thing  I  ever  knew." 

"  I  'd  rather  you  did  n  't  speak  about  it  to  Christian, ' ' 
objected  Mrs.  du  Preez. 

' '  I  did  n  't  mean  to, ' '  Margaret  assured  her,  rising. 

She  crossed  to  the  narrow  mantel  as  though  to  look 
more  particularly  at  Boy  Bailey's  features.  She  lifted 
the  plush  frame  from  its  place. 

"There  are  people  who  would  call  this  face  handsome, ' ' 
she  remarked. 

"Heaps,"  agreed  Mrs.  du  Preez.  "In  his  best  days, 
he  'd  got  a  style — Lord !  Miss  Harding. ' ' 

Margaret  had  let  the  photograph  fall  face-downwards 
on  the  edge  of  the  fender  and  the  crash  of  its  glass  cut 
Mrs.  du  Preez  short.  She  stared  at  Margaret  in  aston- 
ishment as  the  girl  put  a  foot  on  the  picture  and  broke  it. 

"Wasn't  that  clumsy  of  me?"  she  asked,  smiling. 

"Well,  of  all  the  cheek,"  declared  Mrs.  du  Preez, 
slowly.  "I  never  guessed  what  you  were  after.  But  I 
don't  know  what  Christian  will  say." 

"He  can't  mend  it,  anyhow,"  replied  Margaret. 
* '  You  did  want  it  gone,  did  n  't  you  ? ' ' 

324 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

*'You  bet,"  said  Mrs.  du  Preez.  ''But— but  that  was 
a  dodge.  Here,  let  's  make  sure  of  it  while  we  're  at  it ; 
those  two  pieces  could  be  easily  stuck  together.  I  '11 
stamp  some  of  that  smashed  glass  into  it.  Still — I 
should  think,  after  this,  you  'd  be  able  to  hold  your  own 
with  Mrs.  Jakes." 

She  kicked  the  pieces  of  the  now  unrepairable  photo- 
graph into  a  little  heap. 

*'l  '11  leave  it  like  that  for  Christian  to  see,"  she  said. 
"But,  look  here.  Didn't  you  want  to  speak  to  Paul? 
You  '11  be  wondering  when  I  'm  goin*  to  give  you  a 
chance.     I  '11  just  tap  the  drum  for  him." 

Paul 's  whistle  from  behind  the  house  answered  the  first 
strokes  and  Mrs.  du  Preez,  with  an  unusual  delicacy,  did 
not  return  to  the  parlor  with  him. 

**You  're  all  right  now?"  he  asked,  as  he  entered. 

*'0h,  yes.     That  was  nothing,"  said  Margaret. 

Paul  took  his  stand  by  the  window,  leaning  with  a 
shoulder  against  it,  looking  abstractedly  at  her  face,  and 
waiting  to  hear  her  speak. 

*  *  Paul, ' '  asked  Margaret,  * '  do  you  know  where  Kamis 
is  now  ? " 

''Yes,"  he  said. 

"Do  you  see  him  ?     Can  you  speak  to  him  for  me ? " 

* '  I  don 't  see  him  much  now, ' '  answered  Paul.  ' '  That 
is  because  the  policemen  are  riding  about  looking  for  him. 
But  I  can  speak  to  him  to-night. ' ' 

"He  must  take  care  not  to  be  caught,"  said  Margaret. 
"They  're  very  anxious  to  find  him  just  now.  You  've 
heard,  Paul,  that  they  've  found  out  about  me  and  him  ? ' ' 

"Ye-es,"  answered  Paul.     "I  heard  something." 

"It 's  true,"  said  Margaret.  "So  I  've  got  to  go  away 
from  here.    They  won't  have  me  at  the  Sanatorium  any 

325 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

longer  and  the  police  are  watching  to  see  if  Kamis  comes 
anywhere  near  me  and  to  catch  him  if  he  does.  You 
must  warn  him  to  keep  right  away,  Paul.  He  must  n  't 
send  any  messages,  even. ' ' 

*^I  will  tell  him,"  said  Paul.  *'But — you  are  going 
away?     To  England?" 

** Perhaps,"  replied  Margaret.  '*I  expect  I  shall  have 
to  now.  They  tell  me  that  people  won't  let  me  live  in 
South  Africa  any  more.  I  'm  a  sort  of  leper,  and  I  must 
keep  my  distance  from  healthy  people.  So  we  shan't 
see  each  other  again  after  a  few  more  days.  Are  you 
sorry,  Paul?" 

He  reddened  boyishly  and  fidgeted. 

**0h,  it  is  best  for  you  to  go,"  he  answered,  uncom- 
fortably. 

*^Paul!     But  why?" 

*'It  's — it  's  not  your  place,"  he  said,  facing  the  dif- 
ficulty of  putting  an  elusive  thought  into  words.  **This 
country — people  don't  know  what  's  good  and  what  's 
bad — and  there  isn't  enough  people.  Not  like  Lon- 
don. You  should  go  to  London  again.  Kamis  was 
telling  me — theaters  and  streets  and  pictures  to  see, 
and  people  everywhere.  He  says  one  end  of  London 
is  just  like  you  and  the  other  end  is  like  that  Bailey. 
That  is  where  you  should  go — London,  not  here.  I 
will  go  to  London  soon,  too." 

*'I  see,"  said  Margaret.  **I  was  afraid  at  first  that 
you  were  sick  of  me  too,  Paul.  I  needn't  have  been 
afraid  of  that,  need  I?  Wouldn't  it  be  fine  if  we 
could  meet  in  London?" 

**We  can,"  said  Paul  seriously.  **I  have  got  a  hun- 
dred and  three  pounds,  and  I  will  go." 

**That  's  a  good  deal,"  said  Margaret. 
326 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

*'It  's  a  lot/'  he  agreed.  ''My  father  gave  it  to  me 
the  other  day,  all  tied  up  tight  in  a  little  dirty  bundle, 
and  there  was  my  mother's  marriage  lines  in  it  too. 
He  said  he  didn't  mean  me  to  have  those  but  the 
money  was  for  me.  It  was  on  the  table  in  the  morning 
and  he  rolled  it  over  to  me  and  said:  'Here,  Paul. 
Take  this  and  don't  bring  any  more  of  your  tramps 
in  the  house.'  That  was  because  I  brought  that 
Bailey  here,  you  know.  So  now — soon — I  will  go 
to  London  and  Paris  and  make  models  there.  Kamis 
says — " 

"What?"  asked  Margaret. 

"He  says  I  will  think  my  eyes  have  gone  mad  at 
first  when  I  see  London.  He  says  that  coming  to 
Waterloo  Station  will  be  like  dying  and  waking  in  an- 
other world.  But  he  says  too — blessed  are  the  pure 
in  heart,  for  they  will  see  God  even  in  Waterloo 
Station." 

"He  ought  to  go  back  himself,"  said  Margaret,  with 
conviction.     "He  's  wasted  here." 

"Will  you  see  him  before  you  go?"  asked  Paul. 

"No,"  said  Margaret.  "No;  I  daren't.  Tell  him, 
Paul,  please,  that  I  'd  like  to  see  him  ever  so  much, 
but  that  it  's  too  dangerous.  Say  I  wish  him  well  with 
all  my  heart,  and  that  I  hope  most  earnestly  that  he 
won't  let  himself  be  caught." 

"He  won't,"  said  Paul,  with  confidence.  "But  I'^ll 
tell  him." 

"And  say,"  continued  Margaret — "say  he  *s  not  to 
feel  sorry  about  what  has  happened  to  me.  Tell  him 
I  'm  still  proud  that  I  was  his  friend,  and  that  all  this 
row  is  worth  it.     Can  you  remember  all  that?" 

Paul  nodded.  "I  can  remember,"  he  assure<i  her. 
327 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

**It  is — ^it  is  so  fine  to  hear,  for  me,  too.  I  won't  forget 
anything." 

*' Please  don't,  if  you  can  help  it.  I  want  him  to 
have  that  message,"  said  Margaret.  **And  now,  Paul, 
I  '11  have  to  say  good-by  to  you,  because  I  shan't  come 
here  again." 

Paul  stood  upright  as  she  rose.  His  slow  smile  was 
very  friendly. 

**It  doesn't  matter,"  he  said.  *'You  are  going  to 
London,  and  soon  I  shall  see  you  there." 

**I  wonder,"  she  said,  giving  him  her  hand.  **I  '11 
write  you  my  address  and  send  it  you  before  I  leave, 
Paul." 

*'I  should  find  you  anyhow,"  he  assured  her  confi- 
dently. 

Mrs.  du  Preez,  also,  had  to  be  taken  leave  of,  and  shed 
a  tear  or  so  at  the  last.  In  her,  a  strong  emotion 
found  a  safety  valve  in  ferocity. 

**As  for  that  Jakes  woman,"  she  said,  in  conclusion, 
*'you  tell  her  from  me.  Miss  Harding — from  me,  mind, 
— that  it  wouldn't  cost  me  any  pain  to  hand  her  a 
slap  acrost  the  mug." 

Margaret  went  homeward  through  the  late  light 
dreamily.  Far  away,  blurred  by  the  sun's  horizontal 
rays,  the  figure  of  the  trooper  occupied  the  empty 
distance,  no  larger  than  an  ant  against  the  flushed  sky. 
Peace  and  melancholy  were  in  the  mood  of  the  hour, 
a  cue  to  lead  her  thoughts  towards  sadness.  It  caused 
her  to  realize  that  she  would  not  leave  it  all  without 
a  sense  of  loss.  She  would  miss  its  immensity,  its  effect 
of  setting  one  at  large  on  an  earth  without  trimmings 
under  a  heaven  without  clouds,  to  make  the  most  of 
one's  own  humanity.    It  would  be  a  thing  she  had 

328 


FLOWER  0*  THE  PEACH 

known  in  part,  but  which  henceforth  she  would  never 
know  even  as  she  herself  was  known.  She  could  never 
now  find  the  word  that  expressed  its  wonder  and  its  ap- 
peal. 

Mr.  Samson  was  on  the  stoep  as  she  went  up  the 
steps  to  enter  the  Sanatorium.  He  put  down  his  paper 
and  toddled  forward  to.  open  the  door  for  her,  anxiously 
punctilious. 

**Ford  was  down  for  tea,'*  he  said.  ''Askin^  for 
you,  he  was." 

**0h,  was  he?"  replied  Margaret  inanely,  and  went 
in. 

At  supper  that  evening  in  the  farmhouse  kitchen, 
Christian  du  Preez,  glancing  up  from  the  food  which 
occupied  him,  observed  by  a  certain  frowning  delibera- 
tion on  Paul's  face,  that  his  son  was  about  to  deliver 
himself  in  speech. 

**Well,  what  is  it,  Paul?"  he  inquired  encouragingly. 

Paul  looked  up  with  a  faint  surprise  at  having  his 
purpose  thus  forecasted. 

''That  money,"  he  said  doubtfully. 

*'0h."  The  Boer  glanced  uneasily  at  his  wife,  who 
laid  down  her  knife  and  fork  and  began  to  listen  with 
startled  interest. 

''That  's  all  right,"  said  Christian.  '*Do  what  you 
like  with  it.  Go  to  the  dorp  and  spend  it;  it  's  yours. 
Now  eat  your  supper." 

*'I  am  going  to  London,"  said  Paul  then,  seriously, 
and  having  got  it  off  his  mind,  said,  heard  and  done 
with,  he  resumed  his  meal  with  an  appetite. 

*' London,"  echoed  the  Boer.  ** London?"  exclaimed 
Mrs.  du  Preez. 

329 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

'*Yes/'  said  Paul.  ^'To  make  models.  Here  there 
is  nobody  to  see  them." 

"He  is  gone  mad,"  said  the  Boer  with  conviction. 
*'He  has  been  queer  for  a  long  time  and  now  he  is 
mad.     Paul,  you  are  mad." 

**Am  I?"  asked  Paul  respectfully,  and  continued  to 
eat. 

His  father  and  mother  had  much  to  say,  agitatedly, 
angrily,  persuasively,  but  people  were  always  saying 
things  to  him  that  had  no  real  meaning.  It  was  ridic- 
ulous, for  instance,  that  the  Boer  should  call  him  a 
dumb  fool  because  at  the  close  of  a  lecture  he  should 
ask  for  more  coffee.  He  wasn't  dumb  and  didn't  be- 
lieve he  was  a  fool.  People  were  n  't  fools  because  they 
went  to  London ;  on  the  contrary,  they  had  to  be  rather 
clever  and  enterprising  to  get  there  at  all.  And  at 
the  back  of  his  mind  dwelt  the  thing  he  could  not  hope 
to  convey  and  did  not  attempt  to — a  sense  he  had, 
which  warmed  and  uplifted  him,  of  nearing  a  goal  after 
doubt  and  difficulty,  the  Pisgah  exaltation  and  tender- 
ness, the  confidence  that  to  him  and  to  the  work  which 
his  hands  should  perform,  Canaan  was  reserved, 
virgin  and  welcoming.  It  was  a  strength  he  had  in 
secret,  and  the  Boer  knew  himself  baffled  when  after 
an  hour  of  exhortation  to  be  sane  and  explanatory  and 
obedient  and  comprehensible,  he  looked  up  and  said, 
very  thoughtfully: 

*'In  London,  people  pay  a  shilling  to  look  at  clays, 
father." 


330 


CHAPTER  XVII 

FORD'S  return  to  normal  existence  coincided  with 
the  arrival  of  mail-morning,  when  the  breakfast 
menu  was  varied  by  home  letters  heaped  upon  the 
plates.  Mrs.  Jakes  had  one  of  her  own  this  morning 
and  was  very  conscious  of  it,  affecting  to  find  her  cor- 
respondent's caligraphy  hard  to  read.  Old  Mr.  Sam- 
son had  his  usual  pile  and  greeted  him  from  behind 
a  litter  of  torn  wrappers  and  envelopes. 

** Hullo,  Ford,"  he  cried,  *'up  on  your  pins,  again? 
Feelin'  pretty  bobbish — what?" 

**Nice  way  you  've  got  of  putting  it,"  replied  Ford, 
taking  his  seat  before  the  three  letters  on  his  plate. 
**I  'm  all  right,  though.  You  seem  fairly  well  sup- 
plied with  reading-matter  this  morning." 

''The  usual,  the  usual,"  said  Mr.  Samson  airily. 
''People  gone  to  the  country;  got  time  to  write,  don't 
you  know.  Here  's  a  feller  tells  me  that  the  foxes  down 
his  way  are  simply  rotten  with  mange." 

"Awful,"  said  Ford,  glancing  at  the  first  of  his  own 
letters.  "And  here  's  a  feller  tells  me  that  he  's  sent 
in  the  enclosed  account  nine  times  and  must  press  for 
a  cheque  without  delay.  What  's  the  country  coming 
to?     Eh?" 

"You  be  blowed,"  retorted  Mr.  Samson,  and  fell 
again  to  his  reading. 

From  behind  the  urn  Mrs.  Jakes  made  noises  indica- 
tive of  lady-like  exasperation. 

331 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

'*The  way  some  people  write,  you  'd  never  believe 
they  'd  been  educated  and  finished  regardless  of  ex- 
pense," she  declared.  '*  There  's  a  word  here — she  's 
telling  me  about  a  lady  I  used  to  know  in  Town — and 
whether  she  suffers  from  her  children  (though  I  never 
knew  she  was  married)  or  from  a  chaplain,  I  can't 
make  out.  Can  you  see  what  it  is,  Mr.  Ford?  There, 
where  I  'm  pointing?'* 

**0h,  yes,"  said  Ford.  *'It  's  worse  than  you  think, 
Mrs.  Jakes.     It  's  chilblains." 

**0-oh."  Mrs.  Jakes  was  enlightened.  *'"Why,  of 
course.  I  remember  now.  Even  when  she  was  a  girl 
at  school,  she  used  to  suffer  dreadfully  from  them.  I 
thought  she  couldn't  have  been  married,  with  such 
feet.     But  is  n  't  it  a  dreadful  way  to  write  ? " 

She  would  have  indulged  them  with  further  informa- 
tion regarding  the  lady  who  suffered,  but  Margaret's 
entrance  drove  her  back  behind  the  breastwork  of  the 
urn.  She  distrusted  her  own  correctness  when  the 
girl's  eyes  were  on  her,  and  her  sure  belief  that  Mar- 
garet had  revealed  herself  as  anything  but  correct  by 
every  standard  which  Mrs.  Jakes  could  apply,  failed  to 
reassure  her. 

**Good  morning.  Miss  Harding,"  she  said  frostily. 
**You  will  take  coffee?" 

**Good  morning,"  replied  Margaret,  passing  to  her 
place  at  the  table.     *  *  Yes,  it  is  lovely. ' ' 

**Er — the  coffee?"  asked  Mrs.  Jakes,  suspicious  and 
uncomprehending. 

**0h,  coffee.  Yes,  please,"  said  Margaret.  *'I 
thought  you  said  something  about  the  weather. ' ' 

Ford  grinned  at  the  letter  he  was  reading  and 
greeted  her  quietly. 

332 


FLOWER  0^  THE  PEACH 

*'Glad  you  're  better/'  she  replied,  not  returning  his 
smile,  and  turned  at  once  to  the  letters  which  awaited 
her. 

He  was  watching  her  while  she  sorted  them,  examin- 
ing first  the  envelopes  for  indications  of  what  they 
held.  One  seemed  to  puzzle  her,  and  she  took  it  up  to 
decipher  the  postmark.  Then  she  set  it  down  and 
opened  the  fattest  of  all,  a  worthy,  linen-enveloped 
affair,  containing  a  couple  of  typewritten  sheets  as  well 
as  a  short  letter.  She  read  it  perfunctorily  and  looked 
through  the  business-like  typescripts  impatiently, 
folded  them  all  up  again  and  tucked  them  back  into 
the  linen  envelope.  Then  followed  the  others,  and  the 
one  with  the  smudged  postmark  last  of  all.  She 
scrutinized  the  outside  of  this  again  before  she  opened 
it;  it  was  not  an  English  letter,  but  one  from  some 
unidentifiable  postal  district  in  South  Africa.  At  last 
she  opened  it,  and  drew  out  the  dashing  black  scrawl 
which  it  harbored.  A  glance  at  the  end  of  the  letter 
seemed  to  leave  her  in  the  dark,  and  Ford  saw  her  deli- 
cate brows  knit  as  she  began  to  read. 

He  found  himself  becoming  absorbed  in  the  mere 
contemplation  of  her.  He  was  aware  of  a  character  in 
her  presence  at  once  familiar  to  him  by  long  study  and 
intangible;  it  had  the  quality  of  bloom,  that  a  touch 
destroys.  She  had  hair  that  coiled  upon  her  head  and 
left  its  shape  discernible,  and  beneath  it  a  certain 
breadth  and  frankness  of  brow  upon  which  the  eye- 
brows were  etched  marvelously.  She  was  like  a  lantern 
which  softens  and  tempers  the  impetuous  flame  within 
it,  and  turns  its  ardor  into  radiance.  The  Kafir  and 
the  shame  and  the  imprudence  of  that  affair  did  not 
suffice  to  darken  that  light ;  at  the  most,  they  could  but 

d3a 


FLOWER  0^  THE  PEACH 

cause  it  to  waver  and  make  strange  shadows  for  a 
moment,  like  the  candle  one  carries,  behind  a  guarding 
hand,  through  a  windy  corridor.  It  did  not  cool  the 
strong  flame  that  was  the  heart  of  the  combination. 

Suddenly  Margaret  laid  the  letter  down.  She  put 
it  back  on  her  plate  with  an  abrupt  gesture  and  he 
noted  that  she  had  gone  pale,  and  that  her  mouth  was 
wry  as  though  with  a  bitter  taste.  She  even  withdrew 
her  fingers  from  the  sheet  with  exactly  the  movement 
of  one  who  has  by  accident  set  his  hand  on  some  unex- 
pected piece  of  foulness. 

She  went  on  with  her  breakfast  quietly  enough,  but 
she  did  not  look  at  her  letters  again.  They  were  per- 
haps the  first  letters  in  years  to  come  to  the  Sanatorium 
and  be  dismissed  with  a  single  perusal. 

*'Fog  in  London,''  said  Mr.  Samson,  suddenly. 
**  Feller  writes  as  though  it  was  the  plague.  He 
does  n  't  know  what  it  is  to  have  too  much  bally  sun. ' ' 

The  glare  that  shone  through  the  window  returned 
his  glance  unwinking. 

**Fog?"  responded  Mrs.  Jakes,  alertly.  ''That  is 
bad.  Such  dreadful  things  happen  in  fogs.  I  remem- 
ber a  lady  at  Home,  who  was  divorced  afterwards,  who 
lost  her  way  in  a  fog  and  did  n  't  get  home  for  two 
days,  and  even  then  she  had  somebody  else's  umbrella 
and  could  no  more  remember  where  she  'd  got  it  than 
fly.  And  she  was  so  confused  and  upset  that  all  she 
could  say  to  her  husband  was:  *Ed,' — his  name  was 
Edwin — *Ed,  did  you  remember  to  have  your  hair 
cutr  " 

**Had  he  remembered?"  demanded  Mr.  Samson. 

''I  think  not,"  replied  Mrs.  Jakes.  ''What  with 
the  worry,  and  the  things  the  servant  said,  I  don't 

334 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

believe  lie  'd  thought  of  it.     He  always  did  wear  it 
rather  long." 

** Think  of  that/'  said  Mr.  Samson,  with  solemn  sur- 
prise. 

Margaret  finished  her  breakfast  in  silence  and  then 
gathered  up  her  letters.  Ford  thought  that  as  she 
picked  up  the  sheet  which  had  distressed  her,  she 
glanced  involuntarily  at  him.  But  the  look  conveyed 
nothing  and  she  departed  in  silence.  He  was  careful 
not  to  follow  her  too  soon. 

It  was  not  difficult  to  find  her.  For  some  two  hours 
after  breakfast  was  over,  the  only  part  of  the  Sana- 
torium which  it  was  possible  to  inhabit  with  comfort 
was  the  stoep.  The  other  rooms  were  given  over  to 
Fat  Mary  and  her  colleagues  for  the  daily  ceremony 
known  as  ''doing  the  rooms, '*  a  festival  involving  ex- 
cursions and  alarms,  skylarking,  breakages  and  fights. 
To  seek  seclusion  in  the  drawing-room,  for  example, 
was  to  be  subjected  to  a  cinematograph  impression  of 
surprised  and  shocked  black  faces  peering  round  the 
door  and  vanishing,  to  scuffling  noises  on  the  mat  and 
finally  to  hints  from  Mrs.  Jakes  herself:  *' Would  you 
mind  the  girls  just  sweeping  round  your  feet? 
They  're  rather  behindhand  this  morning." 

Margaret  had  betaken  herself  and  her  chair  to  the 
extreme  end  of  the  stoep,  beyond  the  radius  of  Ford's 
art  and  Mr.  Samson's  meditations.  Her  letters  were 
in  her  lap,  but  she  was  not  looking  at  them.  She  was 
gazing  straight  before  her  at  the  emptiness  which 
stretched  out  endlessly,  affording  no  perch  for  the  eye 
to  rest  on,  an  everlasting  enigma  to  baffle  sore  minds. 

Ford  was  innocent  of  stratagem  in  his  manner  of 
approach. 

335 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

**I  say/'  he  said,  and  she  looked  up  listlessly.  *'I 
say — I  'm  sorry.     Can't  we  make  it  up?" 

**A11  right,"  she  answered. 

He  looked  at  her  closely. 

**But  is  it  all  right?"  he  persisted.  **You 're  hurt 
about  something ;  I  can  see  you  are ;  so  it  's  not  all  right 
yet.  Look  here,  Miss  Harding:  you  were  wrong  about 
what  I  was  thinking." 

**0h  no."  Margaret  shifted  in  her  chair  with  a  tired 
impatience.  '*I  wasn't  wrong,"  she  answered.  "I 
could  see ;  and  I  think  you  should  n  't  go  back  on  it  now. 
The  least  you  can  do  is  stand  by  your  beliefs.  You 
won't  find  yourself  alone.  I  had  a  letter  from  some 
one  this  morning  who  would  back  you  up  to  the  last 
drop  of  his  blood,  I  'm  sure." 

*'Who  's  that?" 

*'I  don't  know,"  she  answered.  *'It  's  my  first 
anonymous  letter.  Somebody  has  heard  about  me  and 
therefore  writes.  He  thinks  just  as  you  do.  Would 
you  like  to  see  it?" 

She  handed  him  the  bold,  crowded  scrawl  and  sat  back 
while  he  leaned  on  the  rail  to  read  it. 

At  the  second  sentence  in  the  letter  he  looked  up 
sharply  and  restrained  an  ejaculation.  She  was  not 
looking  at  him,  but  a  tinge  of  pink  had  risen  in  her 
quiet  face. 

It  was  an  anonymous  letter  of  the  most  villainous 
kind.  Something  like  horror  possessed  him  as  he  real- 
ized that  her  grave  eyes  had  perused  its  gleeful  and 
elaborate  offense.  The  abominable  thing  was  a  vileness 
fished  from  the  pit  of  a  serious  and  blackguard  mind. 
It  had  the  baseness  of  ordure,  and  a-sort  of  frivolity 
that  transcended  commonplace  evil. 

336 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

'*I  say,"  he  cried,  before  the  end  of  the  ingenious 
thing  was  reached.    *'You  haven't  read  this  through?" 

**Not  quite,"  she  answered. 

**I— I  should  think  not." 

With  quick  nervous  jerks  of  his  fingers  which  be- 
trayed the  hot  anger  he  felt,  he  tore  the  letter  into 
strips  and  the  strips  again  into  smaller  fragments, 
and  strewed  them  forth  upon  the  stiff  dead  shrubs 
below. 

''It 's  getting  about,  you  see,"  said  Margaret,  with  a 
sigh.  '*I  suppose,  before  I  manage  to  get  away,  I  shall 
be  accustomed  to  things  of  that  kind. ' ' 

*'But  this  is  awful,"  cried  Ford.  **I  can't  bear 
this.  You,  of  all  people,  to  have  to  go  through  all 
that  this  means  and  threatens — it 's  awful.  Miss 
Harding,  let  me  apologize,  let  me  grovel,  let  me  do 
anything  that  '11  give  you  the  feeling  that  I  'm  with  you 
in  this.  You  can't  face  it  alone — you  simply  can't. 
I'm  sorry  enough  to — to  kick  myself.  Can't  you  let 
me  stand  in  with  you  ? ' ' 

He  stopped  helplessly  before  Margaret's  languid 
calm.  She  was  not  in  the  least  stirred  by  his  appeal. 
She  lay  back  in  her  chair  listlessly,  and  only  withdrew 
her  eyes  from  the  veld  to  look  at  him  as  he  ceased  to 
speak. 

*'0h,  it  doesn't  matter,"  she  said  indifferently. 
**It  's  a  silly  business.     Don't  worry  about  it,  please.' 

*'But — "  began  Ford,  and  stopped.  *'You  mean — 
you  won't  have  me  with  you,  anyhow?"  he  asked. 
''What  you  thought  I  thought,  upstairs — ^you  can't 
forget  that?     Is  that  it?" 

She  smiled  slowly,  and  he  stared  at  her  in  dismay. 
Nothing  could  have  expressed  so  clearly  as  that  faint 
23  337 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

smile  her  immunity  from  the  passion  that  stirred  in 
him. 

*' Perhaps  it  ^s  that,'*  she  answered,  always  in  the 
same  indifferent,  low  voice.  **I  'm  not  thinking  more 
about  it  than  I  can  help." 

**I  didn't  think  any  harm  of  you,"  Ford  protested 
earnestly,  leaning  forward  from  his  perch  on  the  rail 
and  striving  to  compel  her  to  look  at  him.  **We  've 
been  good  friends,  and  you  might  have  trusted  me 
not  to  think  evil  of  you.  I  simply  didn't  understand 
— nothing  else.  You  can't  seriously  be  offended  be- 
cause you  imagined  that  I  was  thinking  certain 
thoughts.     It  isn't  fair." 

**I  'm  not  offended,"  she  answered. 

**Hurt,  then,"  he  substituted.  *' Anything  you 
please. ' ' 

He  stepped  down  from  his  seat  and  walked  a  few 
paces  away,  with  his  hands  deeply  sunk  in  his  pockets, 
and  then  walked  back  again. 

**I  say,"  he  said  abruptly;  **it  's  a  question  of  what 
I  think  of  you,  it  seems.  Let  me  tell  you  what  I  do 
think." 

Margaret  turned  her  face  towards  him.  He  was 
frowning  heavily,  with  an  appearance  of  injury  and 
annoyance.     He  spoke  in  curt  jets. 

**It  's  only  since  I  Ve  known  you  that  I  've  really 
worried  over  being  a  lunger,"  he  said.  *^The  Army 
— I  could  stand  that.  But  seeing  you  and  talking  to 
you,  and  knowing  I  'd  no  right  to  say  a  word — no  right 
to  try  and  Icrad  things  that  way,  even,  for  your  sake 
as  much  as  mine — it  's  been  hard.  Because — this  is 
what  I  do  think — it  's  seemed  to  me  that  you  were 
worth  more  than  everything  else.     I  'd  have  given  the 

338 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

world  to  tell  you  so,  and  ask  you — well,  you  know  what 
I  mean." 

Margaret  was  not  so  steeped  in  sorrows  but  she 
could  mark  this  evasion  of  a  plain  statement  with  amuse- 
ment. 

Ford,  staring  at  her  intently,  clicked  with  impatience. 

**Well,  then,"  he  said  in  the  tone  of  one  who  is 
goaded  to  extreme  lengths;  ''well  then.  Miss — er — 
Margaret — "  he  paused,  seemingly  struck  by  a  pleas- 
ant flavor  in  the  name  as  he  spoke  it — ''Margaret,"  he 
repeated,  less  urgently;  "I  'm  hanged  if  I  know  how 
to  say  it,  but — I  love  you." 

There  was  an  appreciable  interval  while  they  re- 
mained gazing  at  each  other,  he  breathless  and  discom- 
posed, she  grave  and  unresponding. 

*'Do  you?"  she  said  at  last.     "But—" 

"I  do,"  he  urged.  "On  my  soul,  I  do.  Margaret, 
it  's  true.  I  Ve  been — loving — you  for  a  long  time. 
I  thought  perhaps  you  might  care  a  little,  too,  some- 
times, and  I'd  have  told  you  if  it  wasn't  for  this 
chest  of  mine.  That  's  what  I  meant  when  you  said 
you  were  going  away  and  I  asked  you  to  stay.  I 
thought  you  understood  then." 

"I  did  understand,"  she  replied,  and  sat  thoughtful. 

She  wondered  vaguely  at  the  apathy  that  mastered 
her  and  would  not  suffer  her  to  feel  even  a  thrill. 
Some  virtue  had  departed  out  of  her  and  drawn  with 
it  the  whole  liveliness  of  her  mind  and  spirit,  so  that 
what  remained  was  mere  deadness.  She  knew,  in 
some  subconscious  and  uninspiring  manner,  that  Ford 
was  what  he  had  always  been,  with  passion  added  to 
him;  he  was  waiting  in  a  tension  of  suspense  for  her 
to  answer,  with  his  thin  face  eager  and  glowing.    It 

339 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

should  have  moved  her  with  compassion  and  liking  for 
the  stubborn,  faithful,  upright  soul  she  knew  him  to 
be.  But  the  letter,  the  confident  approaches  of  the 
Punchinello  policeman,  and  even  Mrs.  Jakes'  ill-re- 
strained joy  in  bidding  her  leave  the  place,  had  been 
so  many  blows  upon  her  function  of  susceptibility. 
The  accumulation  of  them  had  a  little  stunned  her,  and 
she  was  not  yet  restored. 

Ford  saw  her  lips  hesitate  before  she  spoke,  and  his 
heart  beat  more  quickly. 

She  looked  up  at  him  uncertainly  and  made  a  move- 
ment with  her  shoulders  like  a  shrug. 

**0h,  I  can't,"  she  said  suddenly.  '*No,  I  can't. 
It  's  no  use ;  you  must  leave  me  alone,  please. ' ' 

His  look  of  sheer  amazement,  of  pain  and  bewilder- 
ment, returned  to  her  later.  It  was  as  though  he  had 
been  struck  in  the  face  by  some  one  he  counted  on  as 
a  friend.     He  stood  for  an  instant  rooted. 

** Sorry,"  he  said,  then.  *^I  might  have  seen  I  was 
worrying  you.     Sorry." 

His  retreating  feet  sounded  softly  on  the  flags  of 
the  stoep,  and  she  sank  back  in  her  chair,  wondering 
wearily  at  the  event  and  its  inconsequent  conclusion, 
with  her  eyes  resting  on  the  wide  invitation  of  the 
veld. 

**Am  I  going  to  be  ill?"  was  the  thought  that  came 
to  her  relief.  "Am  I  going  to  be  ill?  I  'm  not  really 
like  this." 

The  ordeal  of  lunch  had  to  be  faced;  she  could  not 
eat,  but  still  less  could  she  face  the  prospect  of  Mrs. 
Jakes  with  a  tray.  Afterwards,  there  was  the  dreary 
labor  of  writing  letters  to  go  before  her  to  England 
and    make    ready    the    way    for    her    return.     There 

340 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

would  have  to  be  explanations  of  some  kind,  and  it 
was  a  sure  thing  that  her  explanations  would  fail  to 
satisfy  a  number  of  people  who  would  consider  them- 
selves entitled  to  comment  on  her  movements.  There 
would  have  to  be  some  mystery  about  it,  at  the  best. 
For  the  present,  she  could  not  screw  herself  up  to  the 
task  of  composing  euphemisms.  *' Expect  me  home  by 
the  boat  after  next.  I  will  tell  you  why  when  I  see 
you";  that  had  to  suffice  for  the  legal  uncle,  his  lawful 
wife,  the  philosophic  aunt  and  all  the  rest. 

Then  came  tea  and  afterwards  dinner;  the  day 
dragged  like  a  sick  snake.  Dr.  Jakes  made  mournful 
eyes  at  her  and  talked  feverishly  to  cover  his  nervous- 
ness and  compunction,  and  now  and  again  he  looked 
down  the  table  at  his  wife  and  Mr.  Samson  with  furtive 
malevolence.  Afterwards,  in  the  drawing-room,  Mrs. 
Jakes,  having  made  an  inspection  of  the  doctor,  played 
the  intermezzo  from  *^Cavalleria  Rusticana"  five  times, 
and  Ford  and  Samson  spent  the  evening  over  a  chess- 
board. Margaret,  on  the  couch,  found  herself  coming 
to  the  surface  of  the  present  again  and  again  from 
depths  of  heavy  and  turgid  thought,  to  find  the  inter- 
mezzo still  limping  along  and  Mr.  Samson  still  apostro- 
phizing his  men  in  an  undertone  (''Take  his  bally 
bishop,  old  girl ;  help  yourself.  No,  come  back — he  '11 
have  you  with  that  knight"  ).  It  was  interminable,  a 
pocket  eternity. 

Then  the  view  of  the  stairs  sloping  up  to  the  dimness 
above  and  the  cool  air  of  the  hall  upon  her  neck  and 
face,  and  the  sourness  of  Mrs.  Jakes  trying  to  give  her 
'*good  night"  the  intonation  of  an  insult — these  in- 
truded abruptly  upon  her  straying  faculties,  and  she 
came  a  little  dazed  into  the  light  of  the  candles  in  her 

341 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

own  room,  where  her  eyes  fell  first  on  the  breadth  of 
Fat  Mary's  back,  as  that  handmaid  stood  at  the  win- 
dow with  the  blind  in  her  hand  and  peered  forth  into 
the  dark.  As  she  turned,  Margaret  gained  an  impres- 
sion that  the  stout  woman's  interest  in  something  below 
was  interrupted  by  her  entrance. 

Fat  Mary  had  been  another  of  Margaret's  disap- 
pointments since  the  exposure.  The  Kafir  woman's 
manner  to  her  had  undergone  a  notable  change.  There 
was  no  longer  the  touch  of  reverence  and  gentleness 
with  which  she  had  tended  Margaret  at  first,  which 
had  made  endearing  all  her  huge  incompetence  and 
playfulness.  There  had  succeeded  to  it  a  manner  of 
familiarity  which  manifested  itself  chiefly  in  the 
roughness  of  her  handling.  Margaret  was  being  called 
upon  to  pay  the  penalty  which  the  African  native 
exacts  from  the  European  who  encroaches  upon  the 
aloofness  of  the  colored  peoples. 

Fat  Mary  grinned  as  Margaret  came  through  the 
door. 

*'Mo'  stink,"  she  observed,  cheerfully,  and  pointed 
to  the  dressing-table. 

Margaret's  eyes  followed  the  big  black  finger  to 
where  a.  bunch  of  aloe  plumes  lay  between  the  candles 
on  the  white  cloth,  brilliantly  red.  The  sight  of  them 
startled  the  girl  sharply.  She  went  across  and  raised 
them. 

^  *  Where  did  they  come  from  ? ' '  she  asked  quickly. 

''That  Kafir,"  grinned  Fat  Mary.  "Missis's  Kafir, 
he  bring  'im." 

''What  did  he  say?    Did  he  give  any  message?" 

"No,"  replied  Fat  Mary.  "Jus'  stink-flowers,  an' 
give  me  Scotchman." 

342 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

'* Scotchman'^  is  Kafir  slang  for  a  florin;  it  has  for 
an  origin  a  myth  reflecting  on  the  probity  of  a  great 
race.  But  Margaret  did  not  inquire;  she  was  pon- 
dering a  possible  significance  in  this  gift  of  bitter 
blooms. 

Fat  Mary  eyed  her  acutely  while  she  stood  in  thought. 

*'He  say  don't  tell  nobody,"  she  remarked  casually. 
*'I  say  no  fear — me!  I  don't  tell.  Missis  like  jthat 
Kafir  plenty?" 

*'Mary,"  said  Margaret.  *'You  can  go  now.  I 
shan't  want  you." 

**A11  a-right,"  replied  Fat  Mary  willingly,  and  took 
herself  off  forthwith.  She  had  her  own  uses  for  a 
present  of  spare  time  at  this  season. 

Margaret  put  the  red  flowers  down  as  the  door 
closed  behind  Fat  Mary,  and  set  herself  before  the 
mirror.  There  was  still  that  haze  between  her  thoughts 
and  the  realities  about  her,  a  drifting  cloudiness  that 
sometimes  obscured  them  all  together,  and  sometimes 
broke  and  let  matters  appear. 

She  noted  in  the  mirror  the  strange,  familiar  spec- 
ter of  her  own  face,  and  saw  that  the  hectic  was  strong 
and  high  on  either  cheek.  Then  the  aloe  plumes  plucked 
at  her  thoughts,  and  the  haze  closed  about  her  again, 
leaving  her  blind  in  a  deep  and  aimless  preoccupation 
in  which  her  thoughts  were  no  more  than  a  pulse,  re- 
peating itself  to  no  end.  Ford's  declaration  and  his 
manner  of  making  it;  the  Punchinello  countenance  of 
the  trooper,  bestially  insinuating ;  Mrs.  Jakes  eating  soup 
at  Mr.  Samson; — these  came  and  went  in  the  dreadful 
arena  of  her  mind  and  made  a  changing  spectacle  that 
baffled  the  march  of  the  clock-hands. 

She  did  not  know  how  long  she  had  been  sitting 
343 


FLOWER  0*  THE  PEACH 

when  a  rattle  at  the  window  surprised  her  into  look- 
ing up.  She  stared  absently  at  the  blind  till  it  came 
again.  It  had  the  sound  of  some  one  throwing  earth 
from  below.     She  rose  and  went  across  and  looked  out. 

It  had  not  touched  her  nerves  at  all;  it  was  not 
the  kind  of  thing  which  could  frighten  her.  The  win- 
dow was  raised  at  the  bottom  and  she  kneeled  on  the 
floor  and  put  her  head,  cloudily  haloed  with  her  loose 
hair,  out  to  the  star-tempered  dark. 

A  whisper  from  below,  where  the  whisperer  stood 
invisible  in  the  shadow  at  the  foot  of  the  wall,  hailed 
her  at  once. 

**Miss  Harding,'*  it  said.  *'Miss  Harding.  I  'm 
here,  directly  below  you. ' ' 

She  could  see  nothing. 

*'Who  is  it?"  she  asked. 

**Hush."  She  had  spoken  in  her  ordinary  tones. 
*  *  Not  so  loud.     It  's  dangerous. ' ' 

**Who  is  it?"  she  asked  again,  subduing  her  voice. 

''Why — Kamis,  of  course."  The  answer  came  in  a 
tone  of  surprise.  **You  expected  me,  didn't  you? 
Your  light  was  burning." 

*' Expected  you?  No,"  said  Margaret.  *'I  didn't 
expect  you;  you  oughtn't  to  have  come." 

*'But — "  the  voice  was  protesting;  **my  message. 
It  was  on  the  paper  around  the  aloe  plumes.  I  par- 
ticularly told  the  fat  Kafir  woman  to  give  you  that, 
and  she  promised.  If  your  light  was  burning,  I  'd 
throw  something  up  at  your  window,  and  if  not,  I  'd 
go  away.     That  was  it." 

The  night  breeze  came  in  at  the  tail  of  his  words 
with  a  dry  rustling  of  the  dead  vines. 

** There  was  no  paper,"  said  Margaret. 
344 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

The  Kafir  below  uttered  an  angry  exclamation  which 
she  did  not  catch. 

**If  only  you  don't  mind,"  he  said,  then.  *'I  got 
Paul's  message  from  you  and  I  had  to  try  and  see 
you." 

''Yes,"  said  Margaret.  She  could  not  see  him  at 
all;  under  the  lee  of  the  house  the  night  was  black, 
though  at  a  hundred  paces  off  she  could  make  out  the 
lie  of  the  ground  in  the  starlight.  His  whispering 
voice  was  akin  to  the  night. 

**Then  you  don't  mind?"  he  urged. 

*'I  don't  mind,  of  course,"  said  Margaret.  **But  it  's 
too  risky." 

Further  along  the  stoep  there  was  a  dim  warmish 
glow  through  the  red  curtains  of  the  study  and  a  leak 
of  faint  light  under  the  closed  front  door.  The  house 
was  loopholed  for  unfriendly  eyes  and  ears.  There 
was  no  security  under  that  masked  battery  for  their 
privacy.  At  any  moment  Mrs.  Jakes  might  prick  up 
her  ears  and  stand  intent  and  triumphant  to  hear  their 
strained  whispers  in  cautious  interchange.  Margaret 
shrank  from  the  thought  of  it. 

*'I  only  want  a  word,"  answered  Kamis  from  the 
darkness.  *'I  may  not  see  you  again.  You  won't  let 
me  drop  without  a  word — after  everything?" 

Margaret  hesitated.  *'Some  one  may  pick  up  that 
paper  and  read  your  message  and  watch  to  see  what 
happens.     I  couldn't  bear  any  more  trouble  about  it." 

There  was  a  pause. 

**No,"  agreed  Kamis,  then.  '*No — of  course.  I 
did  n't  think  of  that.     I  '11  say  good-by  now,  then." 

Margaret  strained  to  see  him,  but  the  night  hid  him 
securely. 

345 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

"Wait!"  she  called  carefully.  *^I  don't  want  you 
to  go  away  like  that ;  it 's  simply  that  this  is  too 
risky.'*  She  paused.  **I  'd  better  come  down  to  you," 
she  said. 

She  could  not  tell  what  he  answered,  whether  joy  or 
demurral,  for  she  drew  her  head  in  at  once,  and  then 
opened  the  door  and  went  out  to  the  corridor. 

It  was  good  to  be  doing  something,  and  to  have  to 
do  with  one  whose  sympathies  were  not  strained.  She 
went  lightly  and  noiselessly  down  the  wide  stairs,  and 
recognized  again,  with  a  smile,  the  secret  aspect  of  the 
hall  in  the  dark  hours.  There  was  a  thread  of  light 
under  the  door  of  Dr.  Jakes'  study,  and  within  that 
locked  room  the  dutiful  small  clock  was  still  ticking 
off  the  moments  as  stolidly  as  though  all  moments  were 
of  the  same  value.  The  outer  door  was  closed  with 
a  mighty  lock  and  a  great  iron  key,  and  opened  with  a 
clang  that  should  have  brought  Dr.  Jakes  forth  to  in- 
quire. But  he  did  not  come,  and  she  went  unopposed 
out  to  the  stoep  under  the  metallic  rustle  of  its  dead 
vines. 

She  was  going  swiftly,  with  her  velvet-shod  feet,  to 
that  distant  part  of  it  which  was  under  the  broad  light 
of  her  window,  when  the  Kafir  appeared  before  her  so 
suddenly  that  she  almost  ran  into  him. 

"Oh."  She  uttered  a  little  cry.  "You  startled 
me." 

"I  'm  sorry,"  he  answered. 

"You  oughtn't  to  be  here,"  Margaret  said,  "because 
it 's  dangerous.     But  I  am  glad  to  see  you. ' ' 

"That 's  good  of  you,"  he  said.  "I  got  Paul's  mes- 
sage.   I  had  to  come.    I  had  to  see  you  once  more, 

346 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

and  besides,  he  said  you  were — in  trouble.  About 
me?" 

*'0h,  yes/'  said  Margaret.  *'No  end  of  trouble,  all 
about  you.  An  anonymous  letter,  notice  to  quit,  pity 
and  smiles,  two  suitors,  one  with  intentions  which  were 
strictly  dishonorable,  and  so  on.  And  the  simple  truth 
is,  I  don't  care  a  bit." 

**0h.  Lord!"  said  the  Kafir. 

They  were  standing  close  to  the  wall,  immersed  in  its 
shadow  and  sheltered  from  the  wind  that  sighed  above 
them  and  beside  them  and  made  the  vines  vocal. 
Neither  could  see  the  other  save  as  a  shadowy  pres- 
ence. 

* '  I .  don 't  care, ' '  said  Margaret,  * '  and  I  refuse  to 
bother  about  it.  I  Ve  got  to  go,  of  course,  and  I  don't 
like  the  feeling  of  being  kicked  out.  That  rankles  a 
little  bit,  when  I  relax  the  strain  of  being  superior  and 
amused  at  their  littleness.  But  as  for  the  rest,  I  don't 
care." 

*'It  's  my  fault,"  said  the  Kafir  quietly.  ''It 's  all 
my  fault.  I  knew  all  the  time  what  the  end  of  it  would 
be ;  and  I  let  it  come.  There  's  something  mean  in  a 
nigger.  Miss  Harding.  I  knew  it  was  there  well  enough, 
and  now  it  shows." 

** Don't,"  said  Margaret. 

There  fell  a  pause  between  them,  and  she  could  hear 
his  breathing.  She  remembered  the  expression  on 
Ford's  face  when  he  had  questioned  her  as  to  whether 
she  did  not  experience  a  repulsion  at  a  Kafir's  prox- 
imity to  her,  and  tried  now  to  find  any  such  aversion 
in  herself.  They  stood  in  an  intimate  nearness,  so  that 
she   could  not  have  moved   from  her   place   without 

347 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

touching  him;  but  there  was  none.  Whoever  had  it 
for  a  pedestal  of  well  and  truly  laid  local  virtues,  she 
had  it  not. 

"This  is  good-by,  of  course,"  said  the  Kafir,  in  his 
pleasant  low  tones.  "I  '11  never  see  you  again,  but 
I  '11  never  forget  how  good  and  beautiful  you  were  to 
me.  I  must  n  't  keep  you  out  here,  or  there  are  a  hun- 
dred things  I  want  to  say  to  you ;  but  that  's  the  chief 
thing.  I  '11  never  forgive  myself  for  what  has  hap- 
pened, but  I  '11  never  forget." 

*  *  There  's  nothing  you  need  blame  yourself  for, ' '  said 
Margaret  eagerly.  "It  's  been  worth  while.  It  has, 
really.  You  're  somebody  and  you  're  doing  something 
great  and  real,  while  the  people  in  here  are  just  shams, 
like  me.  Oh,"  she  cried  softly;  "if  only  there  was 
something  for  me  to  cZo." 

"For  you,"  repeated  the  Kafir.  "You  must  be — 
what  you  are ;  not  spoil  it  by  doing  things. ' ' 

"No,"  said  Margaret.  "No.  That's  just  chivalry 
and  nonsense.  I  want  something  to  do,  something  real. 
I  want  something  that  costs — I  don't  care  what.  Even 
this  silly  trouble  I  'm  in  now  is  better  than  being  a 
smiling  goddess.     I  want — I  want — " 

Her  mind  moved  stiffly  and  she  could  not  seize  the 
word  she  needed. 

"It  would  be  wasting  you,"  Kamis  was  saying.  "It 
would  be  throwing  you  away." 

"I  want  to  suffer,"  she  said  suddenly.  "Yes — that  's 
what  I  want.  You  suffer — don't  you?  That  woman 
in  Capetown  will  have  to  suffer;  everybody  who  really 
does  things  suffers  for  it;  and  I  want  to." 

"Do  you?"  said  Kamis,  with  a  touch  of  awkward- 
ness.    * '  But — what  woman  in  Capetown  do  you  mean  ? ' ' 

348 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

''Oh,  you  must  have  heard,"  said  Margaret  impa- 
tiently. ' '  She  married  a  Kafir ;  it 's  been  in  the 
papers. ' ' 

*  *  Yes, ' '  he  said,  ' '  I  remember  now. ' ' 

'*I  told  them  all,  in  here,  a  long  time  ago,  that  in 
some  city  of  the  future  there  would  be  a  monument 
to  her,  with  the  inscription:  'She  felt  the  future  in 
her  bones.'  But  while  she  lives  they  '11  make  her 
suffer;  they  '11  never  forgive  her.  I  wish  I  could  have 
met  her  before  I  go. " 

There  was  a  brief  pause.  "Why?"  asked  Kamis 
then,  in  a  low  voice. 

"Why?  Because  she  'd  understand,  of  course.  I  'd 
like  to  talk  to  her  and  tell  her  about  you.  Don't  you 
see?"  Margaret  laughed  a  little.  "I  could  tell  her 
about  it  as  though  it  were  all  quite  natural  and  ordi- 
nary, and  she  'd  understand." 

She  heard  the  Kafir  move  but  he  did  not  reply  at 
once. 

"Perhaps  she  would,"  he  said.  "However,  you  're 
not  going  to  meet  her,  so  it  does  n  't  matter. ' ' 

"But,"  said  Margaret,  puzzled  at  the  lack  of  re- 
sponsiveness in  his  tone  and  words,  "don't  you  think 
she  was  splendid?  She  must  have  known  the  price  she 
would  have  to  pay;  but  it  didn't  frighten  her.  Don't 
you  think  it  was  fine?" 

"Well,"  Kamis  answered  guardedly;  "I  suppose  she 
knew  what  she  was  about. ' ' 

"Then,"  persisted  Margaret,  "you  don't  think  it 
was  fine  ? " 

She  found  his  manner  of  speaking  of  the  subject 
curiously  reminiscent  of  Ford. 

Kamis  uttered  an  embarrassed  laugh.  "Well,"  he 
349 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

said,  *'I  *m  afraid  I  'm  not  very  sympathetic.  I  sup- 
pose I  Ve  lived  too  long  among  white  people ;  my  proper 
instincts  have  been  perverted.  But  the  fact  is,  I  think 
that  woman  was — wrong.'' 

^  ^  Oh, "  said  Margaret.     ' '  Why  ? ' ' 

** There  isn't  any  why,"  he  answered.  ''It  's  a  mat- 
ter of  feeling,  you  know;  not  of  reason.  Really,  it 
amounts  to — it  's  absurd,  of  course,  but  it  's  practically 
negrophobia.  You  can't  bring  a  black  man  up  as  a 
white  man  and  then  expect  him  to  be  entirely  free  from 
white  prejudices.     Can  you?" 

''But — "  Margaret  spoke  in  some  bewilderment. 
"What 's  the  use  of  being  black,"  she  demanded,  "if 
you  've  got  all  the  snobbishness  of  the  white  ?  That  's 
the  way  Mr.  Ford  spoke  about  it.  He  said  he  could 
feel  all  that  was  fine  in  it,  but  he  wouldn't  speak  to 
such  a  woman.     I  thought  that  was  cruel." 

"Oh,  I  don't  know,"  said  Kamis. 

"Another  time,"  said  Margaret  deliberately,  "he 
asked  me  whether  it  didn't  make  my  flesh  creep  to 
touch  your  hand." 

"Se  thought  it  ought  to?" 

"Yes.  But  it  doesn't,"  said  Margaret.  "How  does 
your  negrophobia  face  that  fact?  Doesn't  it  condemn 
me  to  the  same  shame  as  the  woman  in  Capetown?  Or 
does  it  make  exceptions  in  the  case  of  a  particular  ne- 
gro?" 

"I  said  I  didn't  reason  about  it,"  replied  Kamis. 
"I  told  you  what  I  felt.  You  asked  me  and  I  told 
you." 

"I  wish  you  hadn't,"  said  Margaret.  "I  thought 
that  you  at  any  rate — " 

She  broke  off  at  a  quick  movement  he  made.     A  sud- 
350 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

den  sense  came  to  her  that  they  two  were  no  longer 
alone,  and,  with  a  stiffening  of  alarm,  she  turned  ab- 
ruptly to  see  what  had  disturbed  him.  Even  as  she 
turned,  she  lifted  her  hand  to  her  bosom  with  a  premoni- 
tion of  imminent  disaster. 

At  the  head  of  the  steps  that  led  down  to  the  garden, 
and  in  the  dim  light  of  the  half-open  front  door,  a  figure 
had  appeared.  It  came  deliberately  towards  them,  with 
one  hand  lifted  holding  something. 

*' Hands  up,  you  boy!''  it  said.     *'Up,  now,  or  I  '11 — " 

By  the  door,  the  face  was  visible,  the  unhappy,  greedy, 
Punchinello  features  that  Margaret  knew  as  those  of  the 
policeman.  Its  hard  eyes  rested  on  the  pair  of  them 
over  the  raised  revolver  that  threatened  the  Kafir. 

The  driving  mists  returned  to  beat  her  back  from  the 
spectacle;  she  was  helpless  and  weak.  Warmth  filled 
her  throat,  chokingly;  an  acrid  taste  was  in  her  mouth. 
She  took  two  groping  steps  forward  and  fell  on  the  flags 
at  the  policeman's  feet  and  lay  there. 

From  a  window  over  their  heads,  there  came  the  gur- 
gle of  Fat  Mary's  rich  mirth. 


351 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

IT  was  the  scream  of  Mrs.  Jakes  that  woke  Ford, 
when,  hearing  unaccountable  noises  and  attrib- 
uting them  to  the  doctor,  she  went  to  the  hall  and  was 
startled  to  see  in  the  doorway  the  figure  of  the  Kafir, 
with  his  hands  raised  strangely  over  his  head,  as  though 
he  were  suspended'  by  the  wrists  from  the  arch,  and  be- 
hind him  the  shadowy  policeman,  with  his  revolver  pro- 
truded forward  into  the  light.  She  caught  at  her  heart 
and  screamed. 

Ford  found  himself  awake,  leaning  up  on  one  elbow, 
with  the  echo  of  her  scream  yet  in  his  ears,  and  listen- 
ing intently.  He  could  not  be  certain  what  he  had 
heard,  for  now  the  house  was  still  again;  and  it  might 
have  been  some  mere  incident  of  Jakes*  transit  from 
the  study  to  his  bed,  into  which  it  was  better  not  to  in- 
quire. But  some  quality  in  the  cry  had  conveyed  to 
him,  in  the  instant  of  his  waking,  an  impression  of  sud- 
den terror  which  he  could  not  dismiss,  and  he  continued 
to  listen,  frowning  into  the  dark. 

His  room  was  over  the  stoep,  but  at  some  distance 
from  the  front  door,  and  for  a  while  he  heard  nothing. 
Then,  as  his  ears  became  attuned  to  the  night's  acous- 
tics, he  was  aware  that  somewhere  there  were  voices, 
the  blurred  and  indistinguishable  murmur  of  people 
talking.  They  were  hardly  audible  at  all;  not  a  word 
transpired;  he  knew  scarcely  more  than  that  the  still- 
ness of  the  night  was  infringed.     His  curiosity  quick- 

352 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

ened,  and  to  feed  it  there  sounded  the  step  of  a  booted 
foot  that  fell  with  a  metallic  clink,  the  unmistakable 
ring  of  a  spur.    Ford  sat  upright. 

A  couple  of  moments  later,  some  one  spoke  distinctly. 

**Keep  those  hands  up,"  Ford  heard,  in  a  quick 
nasal  tone ; ' '  or  I  '11  blow  your  head  off. ' ' 

Ford  thrust  the  bedclothes  from  his  knees  and  got  out 
of  bed.  He  lifted  the  lower  edge  of  the  blind  and 
leaned  forth  from  the  open  window.  Below  him  the 
stone  stoep  ran  to  right  and  left  like  a  gray  path,  and  a 
little  way  along  it  the  light  in  the  hall,  issuing  from  the 
open  door,  cut  across  it  and  showed  the  head  of  the  wide 
steps.  Beyond  the  light,  a  group  of  dark  figures  were 
engaged  with  somethiug.  As  he  looked,  the  group  began 
to  move,  and  he  saw  that  Mrs.  Jakes  came  to  the  side 
of  the  door  and  stood  back  to  give  passage  to  four  shuf- 
fling Kafirs  bearing  the  stretcher  which  was  part  of  the 
house's  equipment.  There  was  somebody  on  the 
stretcher,  as  might  have  been  seen  from  the  laborious 
gait  of  the  bearers,  but  the  thing  had  a  hood  that  with- 
held the  face  of  the  occupant  as  they  passed  in,  with 
Mrs.  Jakes  at  their  heels. 

Two  other  figures  brought  up  the  rear  and  like- 
wise entered  at  the  doorway  and  passed  from  sight. 
The  first,  as  he  became  visible  in  the  gloom  beyond  the 
light,  was  dimly  grotesque;  he  seemed  too  tall  and  not 
humanly  proportioned,  a  deformed  and  willowy  giant. 
Once  he  was  opposite  the  door,  his  height  explained  it- 
self;  he  was  walking  with  both  arms  extended  to  their 
full  length  above  his  head  and  his  face  bowed  between 
them.  Possibly  because  the  attitude  strained  him,  he 
went  with  a  gait  as  marked  as  his  posture,  a  measured 
and  ceremonial  step  as  though  he  were  walking  a  slow 
23  353 


FLOWER  0^  THE  PEACH 

minuet.  The  light  met  him  as  he  turned  in  the  door- 
way and  Ford,  staring  in  bewilderment,  had  a  momen- 
tary impression  that  the  face  between  the  raised  arms 
was  black.  He  disappeared,  with  the  last  of  the  figures 
close  behind  him,  and  concerning  this  one  there  was 
no  doubt  whatever.  It  revealed  itself  as  a  trooper  of 
the  Mounted  Police,  belted  and  spurred,  his  ** smasher" 
hat  tilted  forward  over  his  brows,  and  a  revolver  held 
ready  in  his  hand,  covering  the  back  of  the  man  who 
walked  before  him. 

''Here,"  ejaculated  Ford,  gazing  at  the  empty  stoep 
where  the  shadow-show  had  been,  with  an  accent  of  dis- 
may in  his  thoughts.  The  affair  of  Margaret  and  the 
Kafir  leaped  to  his  mind;  all  that  had  occurred  below 
might  be  a  new  and  poignant  development  in  that  bitter 
comedy,  and  but  for  a  chance  he  might  have  missed  it 
aU. 

He  was  quick  to  make  a  light  and  find  his  dressing- 
gown  and  a  pair  of  slippers,  and  he  was  knotting  the 
cord  of  the  former  as  he  passed  out  to  the  long  corridor 
and  went  swiftly  to  the  head  of  the  stairs,  where  the 
lamp  that  should  light  Dr.  Jakes  to  his  bed  was  yet 
burning  patiently. 

The  stretcher  was  already  coming  up  the  staircase 
and  he  paused  and  stood  aside  to  make  room  for  it. 
The  four  Kafirs  were  bringing  it  up  head  first,  treading 
carefully  and  breathing  harshly  after  the  manner  of 
the  Kafir  when  he  is  conscious  of  eyes  upon  him.  Be- 
hind them  followed  Mrs.  Jakes,  shepherding  them  up 
with  hushing  noises.  A  gray  blanket  covered  the  form 
in  the  stretcher  with  limp  folds. 

The  Kafirs  saw  Ford  first  and  acknowledged  his  pres- 
ence with  simultaneous  grins.     Then  Mrs.  Jakes  saw 

354 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

Mm  and  made  a  noise  like  a  startled  moan,  staring  up 
with  vexed,  round  eyes. 

*'0h,  Mr.  Ford,"  she  exclaimed  faintly.  ''Please  go 
back  to  bed.     It  's — it  's  three  o  'clock  in  the  morning. ' ' 

Beyond  and  below  her  was  the  hall,  in  which  the  lamp 
had  now  been  turned  up.  Ford  looked  past  her  impas- 
sively, and  took  in  the  two  men  who  waited  there,  the 
Kafir,  with  his  raised  arms — trembling  now  with  the  fa- 
tigue of  keeping  them  up — and  the  saturnine  policeman 
with  his  revolver.  The  stretcher  had  come  abreast  of 
him  and  he  bent  to  look  under  the  hood.  The  bearers 
halted  complaisantly  that  he  might  see,  shifting  their 
grips  on  the  poles  and  smiling  uneasily. 

Margaret's  face  had  the  quietude  of  heavy  lids  closed 
upon  the  eyes  and  features  composed  in  unconsciousness. 
But  the  mouth  was  bloody,  and  there  were  stains  of 
much  blood,  bright  and  dreadful,  on  the  white  linen 
at  her  throat.  For  all  that  Ford  knew  what  it  betok- 
ened, the  sight  gave  him  a  shock ;  it  looked  like  murder. 
They  had  broken  her  hair  from  its  bonds  in  lifting  her 
and  placing  her  in  the  stretcher  and  now  her  head  was 
pillowed  on  it  and  its  disorder  made  her  stranger. 

Mrs.  Jakes  was  babbling  nervously  at  him. 

*'Mr.  Ford,  you  really  mustn't.  I  wish  you'd  go 
back  to  bed.  I  '11  tell  you  about  it  in  the  morning,  if 
you  '11  go  now." 

Ford  motioned  to  the  Kafirs  to  go  on. 

** Where's  the  doctor?"  he  demanded  curtly. 

**0h,"  said  Mrs.  Jakes,  '*I  '11  see  to  all  that.  Mr. 
Ford,  it  's  all  right.  You  're  keeping  me  from  putting 
her  to  bed  by  standing  talking  like  this.  Don't  you  be- 
lieve me  when  I  say  it 's  all  right?  Why  are  you  look- 
ing at  me  like  that?*' 

355 


<<- 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

Is  he  in  the  study?"  asked  Ford. 
Yes/'  replied  Mrs.  Jakes.     *'But  /  ni  tell  him,  Mr. 
Ford.     I — I — promise  I  will,  if  only  you  '11  go  back 
to  bed  now.     I  will  really.'' 

Ford  glanced  along  the  corridor  where  the  Kafirs 
had  halted  again,  awaiting  instructions  from  Mrs.  Jakes. 
There  was  a  picture  on  the  wall,  entitled  ' '  Innocence ' ' — 
early  Victorian  infant  and  kitten — and  they  were  star- 
ing at  it  in  reverent  interest. 

** Better  see  to  Miss  Harding,"  he  said,  and  passed 
her  and  went  down  to  the  hall.  She  turned  to  see  what 
he  was  going  to  do,  in  an  agony  of  alertness  to  preserve 
the  decency  of  the  locked  study  door.  But  he  went 
across  to  speak  to  the  policeman,  and  she  hurried  after 
the  Kafirs,  to  get  the  girl  in  bed  and  free  herself  to  deal 
with  the  demand  for  the  presence  of  the  doctor. 

The  Kafir  stood  with  his  back  to  the  wall,  near  the 
big  front  door,  closer  to  which  was  the  trooper,  always 
with  the  revolver  in  his  hand  and  a  manner  of  watching 
eagerly  for  an  occasion  to  use  it.  Ford  went  to  them, 
knitting  his  brows  at  the  spectacle.  The  prisoner  saw 
him  as  a  slim  young  man  of  a  not  unusual  type  in  a 
dressing-gown,  with  short  tumbled  hair;  the  policeman, 
with  a  more  specialized  experience,  took  in  the  quality 
of  his  manner  with  a  rapid  glance  and  stiffened  to  up- 
rightness. He  knew  the  directness  and  aloofness  that 
go  to  the  making  of  that  ripe  fruit  of  our  civilization, 
an  officer  of  the  army. 

''Have  n't  you  searched  him  for  weapons?"  demanded 
Ford. 

*'No,"  said  the  policeman,  and  added  ''sir,"  as  an 
afterthought. 

Ford  stepped  over  to  the  Kafir  and  passed  his  hands 
356 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

down  his  sides  and  across  his  breast,  feeling  for  any  con- 
cealed dangers  about  his  person. 

'* Nothing/'  he  said.  **You  can  handcuff  him  if  you 
want  to,  but  there  's  no  need  to  keep  him  with  his  hands 
up.    It 's  torture — you  hear  ? ' ' 

*'Yes,  sir/'  responded  the  policeman  again.  '*Put 
them  down, ' '  he  bade  his  prisoner. 

Kamis,  with  a  sigh,  lowered  his  hands,  wincing  at  the 
stiffness  of  his  cramped  arms. 

** Thank  you,''  he  said  to  Ford,  in  a  low  voice.  *'I  've 
had  them  up — it  must  be  half  an  hour." 

*'Well,  you  're  all  right  now,"  responded  Ford,  with 
a  nod. 

He  tried  the  study  door  but  it  was  locked  and  there 
was  no  response  to  his  knocks  and  his  rattling  of  the 
handle. 

''Jakes,"  he  called,  several  times.  **I  say,  you  're 
wanted.    Jakes,  d'you  hear  me?" 

Kamis  and  the  trooper  watched  him  in  silence,  the 
latter  with  his  bold,  unhappy  features  set  into  something 
like  a  sneer.  They  saw  him  test  the  strength  of  the  lock 
with  a  knee;  it  gave  no  sign  of  weakness  and  he  stood 
considering  on  the  mat.  An  idea  came  to  him  and  he 
went  briskly,  with  his  long  stride,  to  the  front  door. 

**I  say,"  called  the  Kafir  as  he  went  by. 

Ford  paused.    **Well?" 

**In  case  you  can't  rouse  him,"  said  the  Kafir,  ''you 
might  like  to  know  that  I  am  a  doctor — M.  B.,  London.'^ 

"Are  you?"  said  Ford  thoughtfully.  "You're 
Kamis,  are  n  't  you  ? ' ' 

"Yes,"  answered  the  Kafir. 

"I  '11  let  you  know  if  there  's  anything  you  can  do,", 
said  Ford. 

357 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

The  contrast  between  the  Kafir's  pleasant,  English 
voice  and  his  negro  face  was  strange  to  him  also.  But 
stranger  yet,  he  could  not  in  the  presence  of  the  con- 
temptuous policeman  speak  the  thing  that  was  in  his 
mind  and  tell  the  Kafir  that  he  was  to  blame  for  the 
whole  business.  The  voice,  the  address,  the  manner  of 
the  man  were  those  of  his  own  class ;  it  would  have  been 
like  quarreling  before  servants. 

''Thank  you,''  said  the  Kafir,  as  Ford  went  out  to  the 
stoep. 

The  sill  of  the  study  window  was  only  three  feet 
above  the  ground,  a  square  of  dull  light  filtering  through 
curtains  that  let  nothing  be  seen  from  without  of  the  in- 
terior of  the  room.  Ford  wasted  no  more  time  in  knock- 
ing and  calling ;  he  drew  off  a  slipper  and  using  it  as  a 
hammer,  smashed  the  glass  of  the  window  close  to  the 
catch.  Half  the  pane  went  crashing  at  the  first  blow, 
and  the  window  was  open.  He  threw  a  leg  over  the  sill 
and  was  in  the  room. 

A  bracket  lamp  was  burning  on  the  wall  and  shooting 
up  a  steady  spire  of  smoke  to  the  ceiling,  where  a  thick 
black  patch  had  assembled  and  was  shedding  flakes  of 
smut  on  all  below  it.  The  slovenliness  of  the  smoking 
lamp  was  suddenly  an  offense  to  him,  and  before  he 
even  looked  round  he  went  across  and  turned  the  flame 
lower.  It  seemed  a  thing  to  do  before  setting  about  the 
saving  of  Margaret's  life. 

The  room  was  oppressively  hot  with  a  sickening  close- 
ness in  its  atmosphere  and  a  war  of  smells  pervading 
it.  The  desk  had  whisky  bottles,  several  of  them,  all 
partly  filled,  standing  about  its  surface,  with  a  water 
jug,  a  syphon  and  some  glasses.  Papers  and  a  book  or 
two  had  their  place  there  also,  and  liquor  had  been  spilt 

358 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

on  them  and  a  tumbler  was  standing  on  the  yellow  cover 
of  a  copy  of  **Mr.  Barnes  of  New  York."  A  collar 
and  a  tie  lay  on  the  floor  in  the  middle  of  the  room  and 
near  them  was  a  glass  which  had  fallen  and  escaped 
breakage.  Dr.  Jakes  was  in  the  padded  patient 's  chair ; 
it  had  its  back  to  the  window,  and  at  first  Ford  had  im- 
agined with  surprise  that  the  room  was  empty.  He 
looked  round  wonderingly,  till  his  eyes  lighted  on  the 
top  of  the  doctor's  blond,  childish  head,  showing  round 
the  chair. 

Dr.  Jakes  had  an  attitude  of  extreme  relaxation.  He 
had  slipped  forward  on  the  smooth  leather  seat  till  his 
head  lay  on  one  of  the  arms  and  his  face  was  upturned 
to  the  smirched  ceiling.  His  feet  were  drawn  in  and 
his  knees  protruded ;  his  hands  hung  emptily  beside  him. 
The  soot  of  the  lamp  had  snowed  on  him  copiously,  dot- 
ting his  face  with  black  spots  till  he  seemed  to  have 
broken  out  in  some  monstrous  plague-rash.  His  lips 
were  parted  under  his  fair  mustache,  and  the  eyes  were 
closed  tight  as  if  in  determination  not  to  see  the  ruin 
and  dishonor  of  his  life.  He  offered  the  spectacle  of  a 
man  securely  entrenched  against  all  possible  duties  and 
needs,  safe  through  the  night  against  any  attack  on  his 
peace  and  repose. 

'* Jakes,"  cried  Ford  urgently,  in  his  ear,  and  shook 
him  as  vigorously  as  he  could.  *' Jakes,  you  hog.  Wake 
up,  will  you. ' ' 

The  doctor's  head  waggled  loosely  to  the  shaking  and 
settled  again  to  its  former  place.  It  was  infuriating  to 
see  it  rock  like  that,  as  though  there  were  nothing  stiffer 
than  wool  in  the  neck,  and  yet  preserve  its  deep  tran- 
quillity. Ford  looked  down  and  swore.  There  was  no 
help  here. 

359 


FLOWER  0*  THE  PEACH 

He  unlocked  the  door  and  threw  it  open.  In  the 
hall  the  Kafir  and  the  policeman  were  as  he  had  left 
them. 

**Come  in  here/*  he  ordered  briefly. 

The  Kafir  came,  with  the  trooper  and  the  revolver 
close  at  his  back.  The  latter 's  eye  made  notes  of  the 
room,  the  glasses,  the  doctor,  all  the  consistent  details; 
and  he  smiled. 

**You  're  a  doctor,''  said  Ford  to  the  Kafir.  ''Can 
you  do  anything  with  this  ? ' ' 

**This"  was  Dr.  Jakes.  Kamis  made  an  inspection 
of  him  and  lifted  one  of  the  tight  eyelids. 

'*I  can  make  him  conscious,"  he  answered,  *'and  sober 
in  a  desperate  sort  of  fashion.  But  he  won't  be  fit  for 
anything.     You  mustn't  trust  him." 

''Will  he  be  able  to  doctor  Miss  Harding?"  demanded 
Ford. 

"No,"  answered  Kamis  emphatically.    "He  won't." 

"Then,"  said  Ford,  "what  the  deuce  are  we  to  do?" 

The  Kafir  was  still  giving  attention  to  Dr.  Jakes,  and 
was  unbuttoning  the  neck  of  his  shirt.     He  looked  up. 

"If  you  would  let  me  see  her,"  he  suggested,  "I  've 
no  doubt  I  could  do  what  is  necessary  for  her." 

Ford  ran  his  fingers  through  his  short  stiff  hair  in 
perplexity. 

"I  don't  see  what  else  there  is  to  do,"  he  said,  frown- 
ing. 

The  trooper  had  not  yet  spoken  since  he  had  entered 
the  room.  He  and  his  revolver  had  had  no  share  in 
events.  He  had  been  a  part  of  the  background,  like 
the  bottles  and  the  soot,  forgotten  and  discounted.  Not 
even  his  prisoner,  whose  life  hung  on  the  pressure  of  his 
trigger-finger,   had  spent   a  glance   on  him.    But   at 

360 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

Ford's  reply  to  the  suggestion  of  the  Kafir  he  restored 
himself  to  a  central  place  in  the  drama. 

** There  will  be  none  of  that,"  he  remarked  in  his 
drawling  nasal  voice. 

Both  turned  towards  him,  the  Kafir  to  meet  the  pistol- 
barrel  pointing  at  his  chest.  The  trooper's  mouth  was 
twisted  to  a  smile,  and  his  Punchinello  face  was  mocking 
and  servile  at  once. 

**None  of  what?"  demanded  Ford. 

•**None  of  your  taking  this  nigger  into  women's  bed- 
rooms.    He  's  my  prisoner." 

**I  '11  take  all  responsibility,"  said  Ford  impatiently. 

The  trooper's  smile  was  open  now.  He  had  Ford 
summed  up  for  such  another  as  Margaret,  a  person  who 
held  lax  views  in  regard  to  Kafirs  and  white  women. 
Such  a  person  was  not  to  be  feared  in  South  Africa. 

*'No,"  he  said.  ''Can't  allow  that.  It  isn't  done. 
This  nigger  '11  stay  with  me." 

"Look  here,"  said  Ford  angrily.    *'I  tell  you — '* 

**You  look  here,"  retorted  the  other.  *'Look  at  this, 
will  you?"  He  balanced  the  big  revolver  in  his  fist. 
* '  That  Kafir  tries  to  get  up  those  stairs,  and  I  '11  drill  a 
hole  in  him  you  could  put  your  fist  in.     Understand?" 

He  nodded  at  Ford  with  a  sort  of  geniality  more  in- 
flexibly hostile  than  any  scowls. 

Ford  would  have  answered  forcibly  enough,  but  from 
the  doorway  came  a  wail,  and  he  looked  up  to  see  Mrs. 
Jakes  standing  there,  with  a  hand  on  each  doorpost  and 
her  small  face,  which  he  knew  as  the  shopwindow  of  the 
less  endearing  virtues,  convulsed  with  a  passion  of  alarm 
and  horror.  At  her  cry,  they  all  started  round  towards 
her,  with  the  single  exception  of  Dr.  Jakes,  who  lay  in 
his  chair  with  his  face  in  that  direction  already,  and  was 

361 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

not  stirred  at  all  by  her  appearance  on  the  scene  that 
had  created  itself  around  him. 

**0-o-oh/'  she  cried.  ** Eustace — after  all  I  've  done; 
after  all  these  years.  Why  didn't  you  lock  the  door, 
Eustace  ?  And  what  will  become  of  us  now  ?  0-oh,  Mr. 
Ford,  I  begged  you  to  go  to  bed.  And  the  Kafir  to  see  it, 
and  all.     The  disgrace — o-o-h.'^ 

The  tears  ran  openly  down  her  face;  they  made  her 
seem  suddenly  younger  and  more  human  than  Ford  had 
known  her  to  be. 

*'0h,  come  in,  Mrs.  Jakes,"  he  begged.  ''Come  in; 
it's— it's  all  right." 

*'A11  right,"  repeated  Mrs.  Jakes.  *'But — everybody 
will  know,  soon,  and  how  can  I  hold  up  my  head  ?  I  've 
been  so  careful;  I  've  watched  all  the  time — and  I  've 
prayed — " 

She  bowed  her  face  and  wept  aloud,  with  horrible 


Ford  was  at  the  end  of  his  wits.  While  he  pitied 
Mrs.  Jakes,  Margaret  might  be  dying  in  her  room,  under 
the  bland  and  interested  eyes  of  Fat  Mary.  He  turned 
swiftly  to  the  Kafir. 

''Could  you  prescribe  if  I  told  you  what  she  looked 
like  ? "  he  asked,  in  a  half- whisper.  ' '  Could  you  do  any- 
thing in  that  way?" 

"Perhaps."  The  Kafir  was  quick  to  understand. 
Even  in  the  urgency  of  the  time.  Ford  was  thankful 
that  he  had  to  deal  with  a  man  who  understood  readily 
and  replied  at  once,  a  man  like  himself. 

"Let  me  pass,  Mrs.  Jakes,"  he  said,  and  made  for  the 
stairs. 

As  soon  as  he  had  gone,  the  trooper  advanced  to  the 
desk  and  laid  hands  on  a  bottle  and  a  glass.    He  mixed 

362 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

himself  a  satisfactory  tumbler  and  turned  to  Mrs.  Jakes. 

*'The  ladies,  God  bless  'em/'  he  said  piously,  and 
drank. 

Kamis,  looking  on  mutely,  saw  the  little  woman  blink 
at  her  tears  and  try  to  smile. 

*' Don't  mention  it,"  she  murmured. 

She  came  into  the  room  and  examined  Dr.  Jakes, 
bending  over  him  to  scan  his  tranquil  countenance. 
There  was  nothing  in  her  aspect  of  wrath  or  rancor; 
she  was  still  submissive  to  the  fate  that  stood  at  the  lev- 
ers of  her  being  and  switched  her  arbitrarily  from  re- 
spectability to  ruin.  She  seemed  merely  to  make  sure  of 
features  in  his  condition  which  she  recognized  without 
disgust  or  shame. 

** Would  you  please  just  help  me?"  she  asked,  looking 
up  at  the  policeman,  very  politely,  with  her  hands  on  the 
doctor's  shoulders. 

** Charmed,"  declared  the  policeman,  with  an  equal 
courtesy,  and  aided  her  to  raise  the  drunken  and  uncon- 
scious man  to  a  more  seemly  position  in  his  chair.  It 
was  seemlier  because  his  head  hung  forward,  and  he 
looked  more  as  if  he  were  dead  and  less  as  if  he  were 
drunk. 

''Thank  you,"  she  said,  when  it  was  done.  *'It  is — 
it  is  quite  a  fine  night,  is  it  not?  The  stars  are  beauti- 
ful. There  is  whisky  on  the  desk — very  good  whisky, 
I  believe.     Won't  you  help  yourself?" 

''You  're  very  good,"  said  the  trooper,  cordially,  and 
helped  himself. 

Ford  came  shortly.  He  ignored  Mrs.  Jakes  and  the 
trooper  entirely  and  spoke  to  the  Kafir  only.  His  man- 
ner made  a  privacy  from  which  the  others  were  ex- 
cluded. 

363 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

'*I  say,"  he  said,  with  a  manner  of  trouble.  **She  's 
still  in  a  faint.  Very  white,  not  breathing  much,  and 
rather  cold.     She  looks  bad." 

The  Kafir  nodded.  *'You  couldn't  take  her  tempera- 
ture, of  course,"  he  said.  ** There  hadn't  been  any 
fresh  hemorrhage?" 

'*No,"  replied  Ford.  ''I  asked  Fat  Mary.  She  was 
there,  and  she  said  there  'd  been  no  blood.  I  say — is 
it  very  dangerous?" 

He  was  a  layman ;  flesh  and  blood — blood  particularly 
— were  beyond  his  science  and  within  the  reach  only  of 
his  pity  and  his  fear.  He  had  stood  by  Margaret's  bed 
and  looked  down  on  her;  he  had  bent  his  ear  to  her  lips 
to  make  sure  that  she  breathed  and  that  her  white  immo- 
bility was  not  death.  His  hand  had  felt  her  forehead 
and  been  chilled  by  the  cold  of  it ;  and  he  had  tried  in- 
expertly to  find  her  pulse  and  failed.  Fat  Mary,  hold- 
ing a  candle,  had  illuminated  his  researches,  grinning  the 
while,  and  had  answered  his  questions  humorously,  till 
she  realized  that  she  was  in  some  danger  of  being  as- 
saulted ;  and  then  she  had  lied. 

He  made  his  appeal  to  the  Kafir  as  to  a  man  of  his 
own  kind. 

**I  'm  afraid  it 's  not  much  use,"  he  said — **what  I 
can  tell  you,  I  mean.  But  do  you  think  there  's  much 
danger  ? ' ' 

Kamis  shook  his  head.  ** There  should  n't  be,"  he  an- 
swered. * '  I  wish  I  could  see  her.  Cold,  was  she  ?  Yes ; 
temperature  subnormal.  I  could  cup, — but  you  could 
n't.  Do  you  think  you  could  make  a  hypodermic  injec- 
tion, if  I  showed  you  how?" 

**I  could  do  any  blessed  thing,"  declared  Ford,  fer- 
vently. 

364 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

*  ^  Digitalin  and  adrenalin, '  *  mused  Kamis.  *  *  He  won 't 
have  those,  though.  Do  you  know  if  he  's  got  any  er- 
gotin?'^ 

**He  has,''  replied  Ford.  "He  shoved  some  into  me. 
Mrs.  Jakes — ergotin  ?  where  is  it  ? ' ' 

Mrs.  Jakes  was  leaning  on  the  back  of  the  chair  which 
contained  the  doctor.  She  had  recovered  from  the  emo- 
tion which  had  convulsed  and  unbalanced  her  at  the  dis- 
covery of  the  study's  open  door.  She  looked  up  now 
languidly,  in  imitation  of  Margaret's  manner  when  she 
was  not  pleased  with  matters. 

** Really,  you  must  ask  the  doctor,"  she  said.  ''I 
couldn't  think  of — ah — disposing  of  such  things." 

Kamis  had  not  waited  to  hear  her  out.  Already  he 
was  overhauling  the  drawers  of  the  desk  for  the  syringe. 
Ford  aided  him. 

''Is  this  it?"  he  asked,  at  the  second  drawer  he 
opened. 

''Thank  God,"  ejaculated  Kamis.  He  could  not  help 
sending  a  glance  of  triumph  at  Mrs.  Jakes. 

"Now  attend  to  me,"  he  said  to  Ford.  "First  I  '11 
show  you  how  to  inject  it.  Give  me  your  arm ;  can  you 
stand  a  prick  ? ' ' 

"Go  ahead,"  said  Ford;  "slowly,  so  that  I  can 
watch." 

"Take  a  pinch  of  skin  like  this,"  directed  the  Kafir, 
closing  his  forefinger  and  thumb  on  a  piece  of 
Ford's  forearm.  "See?  Then,  with  the  syringe  in 
your  hand,  like  this,  push  the  needle  in — like  this. 
See?" 

"I  see." 

"Well,  now  do  it  to  me.    Here  's  the  place." 

The  arm  he  bared  was  black  brown,  full  and  muscu- 
365 


FLOWER  0*  THE  PEACH 

lar.  Ford  took  the  syringe  and  pinched  the  smooth 
warm  skin. 

**In  with  it,'*  urged  the  Kafir.  ^* Don't  be  afraid, 
man.  Now  press  the  plunger  down  with  your  forefin- 
ger. See?  Go  on,  can't  you?  You  mustn't  mess  the 
business  upstairs.    Do  it  again." 

**That  's  enough,"  said  Ford. 

Drops  of  blood  issued  from  the  puncture  as  he  with- 
drew the  needle,  and  he  shivered  involuntarily.  It  had 
been  horrible  to  press  the  point  home  into  that  smooth 
and  rounded  arm;  his  own  had  not  bled. 

*'Mind  now,"  warned  the  Kafir.  **You  must  run  it 
well  in.     And  now  about  the  drug." 

He  was  minute  in  his  instructions  and  careful  to 
avoid  technical  phrases  and  terms  of  art.  He  took  the 
syringe  and  cleaned  and  charged  and  gave  it  to  Ford. 

''Don't  funk  it,"  was  his  final  injunction.  **This  is 
nothing.     There  may  be  worse  for  you  to  do  yet. ' ' 

*'I  won't  funk  it,"  promised  Ford.  *'But— "  he  ap- 
pealed to  the  Kafir  with  a  shrug  of  deprecation — *'but 
is  n  't  it  a  crazy  business  ? ' ' 

It  was  like  a  swiftly-changing  dream  to  him.  The 
hot  and  dirty  room,  with  the  Kafir  busy  and  thoughtful, 
the  malevolent  trooper  and  his  revolver,  the  sprawl  of 
the  doctor  and  his  slumberous  calm  and  Mrs.  Jakes  grop- 
ing through  the  minutes  for  a  cue  to  salvation,  were  un- 
convincing even  when  his  eyes  dwelt  on  them.  They 
had  not  the  savor  of  reality.  Six  paces  away  was  the 
hall,  severe  and  grand,  with  its  open  door  making  it  a 
neighbor  of  the  darkness  and  the  stars.  Then  came  the 
vacant  stairs  and  the  long  lifeless  corridors  running  be- 
tween the  closed  doors  of  rooms,  and  the  light  leaking 

366 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

out  from  tinder  the  door  of  Margaret's  chamber. 
Through  such  a  variety  one  moves  in  dreams,  where 
things  have  lost  or  changed  their  values  and  nothing  is 
solid  or  immediate,  and  death  is  not  troublous  nor  life 
significant. 

Fat  Mary  was  resting  in  Margaret's  armchair  when 
he  pushed  open  the  door  and  came  in,  carrying  the  syr- 
inge carefully  with  its  point  in  the  air.  She  rose  hastily, 
fearful  of  a  rebuke. 

''Miss   Harding   wake   up   yet?"    Ford   asked   her. 

**No.  Missis  sleep  all-a-time, ' '  replied  Fat  Mary. 
*'She  plenty  quiet,  all-'e-same  dead." 

''Shut  up,"  ordered  Ford,  in  a  harsh  whisper. 
"You  're  a  fool." 

Fat  Mary  sniffed  in  cautious  defiance  and  muttered 
in  Kafir.  Since  her  duties  had  lain  about  Margaret's 
person,  she  had  become  unused  to  being  called  a  fool. 
She  pouted  unpleasantly  and  stood  watching  unhelpfully 
as  Ford  went  to  the  bedside. 

The  blood  had  been  washed  away  and  there  was  noth- 
ing now  to  suggest  violence  or  brutality.  The  girl 
lay  on  her  back  in  the  utter  vacancy  of  unconsciousness ; 
the  face  had  been  wiped  clean  of  all  expression  and  left 
blank  and  void.  Mrs.  Jakes  had  known  enough  to  re- 
move the  pillows,  which  were  in  the  chair  Fat  Mary  had 
selected  for  her  ease,  and  the  head  lay  back  on  the  level 
sheet  with  the  brown  hair  tumbled  to  each  side  of  ii. 
Ford,  looking  down  on  her,  was  startled  by  a  likeness  to 
a  recumbent  stone  figure  he  had  seen  in  some  church, 
with  the  marble  drapery  falling  to  either  side  of  it  as 
now  the  bedclothes  fell  over  Margaret  Harding.  It 
needed  only  the  crossed  arms  and  the  kneeling  angel  to 

367 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

complete  the  resemblance.  The  idea  was  hateful  to  him, 
and  he  made  haste  to  get  to  the  work  he  had  to  do  in 
order  to  break  away  from  it. 

The  sleeve  of  the  nightgown  had  soft  lace  at  the  wrist 
and  a  band  of  lace  inserted  higher  up ;  softness  and  deli- 
cacy surrounded  her  and  made  his  task  the  harder.  The 
forearm,  when  he  had  stripped  the  sleeve  back,  was  cool 
and  silk-smooth  to  his  touch,  slender  and  shining.  His 
fingers  almost  circled  its  girth;  it  was  strangely  femi- 
nine and  disturbing.  A  blue  vein  was  distinct  in  the 
curve  of  the  elbow,  and  others  branched  at  the  wrist 
where  his  finger  could  find  no  pulse. 

Fat  Mary  forgot  her  indignation  in  her  curiosity,  and 
came  tiptoeing  across  the  floor,  holding  a  candle  to  light 
him,  and  stood  at  his  shoulder  to  watch.  Her  big  ridicu- 
lous face  was  gleeful  as  he  took  up  the  syringe ;  she  knew 
a  joke  when  she  saw  one. 

Ford  pinched  the  white  skin  with  thumb  and  fore- 
finger as  he  had  been  bidden  and  touched  it  with  the 
point  of  the  needle.  The  point  slipped  and  was  reluctant 
to  enter ;  he  had  to  take  hold  firmly  and  thrust  it,  like  a 
man  sewing  leather.  The  girl's  hand  twitched  slightly 
and  fell  open  again  and  was  passive.  He  felt  sickish 
and  feeble  and  had  to  knit  himself  to  run  the  needle  in 
deep  and  depress  the  plunger  that  deposited  the  drug  in 
the  arm.  Over  his  shoulder  Fat  Mary  watched  avidly 
and  grinned. 

He  drew  the  sleeve  down  again  and  laid  the  arm  back 
in  its  place.  He  passed  a  hand  absently  over  his  fore- 
head and  found  it  damp  with  strange  sweat,  and  he  was 
conscious  of  being  weary  in  every  limb  as  though  he  had 
concluded  some  extreme  physical  effort.  He  looked  care- 
fully at  the  unconscious  girl,  seeking  for  signs  and  indi- 

368 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

ces  which  he  should  report  to  Kamis.  The  likeness  of 
the  marble  figure  did  not  recur  to  him;  his  thoughts 
were  laborious  and  slow. 

He  woke  Mr.  Samson  on  his  way  downstairs,  in- 
vading his  room  without  knocking  and  shaking  him 
by  the  shoulder.  Mr.  Samson  snorted  and  thrust  up 
a  bewildered  face  to  the  light  of  the  candle.  His  white 
mustache,  which  in  the  daytime  cocked  debonair  points 
to  port  and  starboard,  hung  down  about  his  mouth  and 
made  him  commonplace. 

**What  the  devil  's  up?"  he  gasped,  staring  wildly. 
*'0h,  it's  you,  Ford." 

**Get  up,"  said  Ford.  ** There  's  the  deuce  to  pay. 
That  Kafir  's  arrested — Kamis,  you  know ;  Miss  Hard- 
ing 's  had  a  bad  hemorrhage  and  Jakes  is  dead  drunk. 
I  want  you  to  go  to  Du  Preez's  and  send  a  messenger 
for  another  doctor.     Hurry,  will  you?" 

**My  sainted  aunt,"  exclaimed  Mr.  Samson,  in 
amazement.  *'You  don't  say.  I  11  be  with  you  in 
a  jiffy,  Ford.     Don't  you  wait." 

He  threw  a  leg  over  the  edge  of  the  bed,  revealing 
pyjamas  strikingly  striped,  and  Ford  left  him  to 
improvise  a  toilet  unwatched. 

The  trooper  was  talking  to  Mrs.  'Jakes  in  the  study 
when  Ford  returned  there.  He  had  relieved  himself 
of  his  hat,  and  his  big  head,  on  which  the  hair  was 
scant,  was  naked  to  the  lamp.  He  had  found  himself 
a  chair  at  the  back  of  the  desk,  and  reclined  in  it 
spaciously,  with  his  half-empty  tumbler  at  his  elbow. 
The  Kafir  still  stood  where  Ford  had  left  him,  his  eyes 
roving  gravely  over  the  room  and  its  contents.  The 
trooper  looked  up  as  Ford  came  in,  lifting  his  saturnine 
and  aggressive  features  with  a  smile.  He  had  drun^ 
?4  369 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

several  glasses  in  a  quick  succession  and  was  already 
thawed  and  voluble. 

'^Well/'  he  said  loudly.  ''How's  inter estin'  pa- 
tient? 'S  well  's  can  be  expected — what?  Didn't  ex- 
press wish  to  thank  med'cal  adviser  in  person,  I 
s'pose?" 

Ford  bent  a  hard  look  on  him. 

*'I  '11  attend  to  you  in  good  time,"  he  said,  with 
meaning.     '*For  the  present  you  can  shut  up." 

He  turned  at  once  to  the  Kafir  and  began  to  tell  him 
what  he  had  seen  and  done,  while  the  other  steered  him 
with  brief  questions.  The  trooper  gazed  at  them  with 
a  fixed  eye. 

'*Shup,"  he  said,  to  Mrs.  Jakes.  ''Says  I  can 
shup — for  the  present.  Supposin'  I  don't  shup, 
though." 

He  drank,  with  a  manner  of  confirming  by  that  action 
a  portentous  resolution,  and  sat  for  some  minutes 
grave  and  meditative,  with  his  bitter,  thin  mouth 
sucked  in.  He  never  laid  down  the  big  revolver  which 
he  held.  Its  short,  businesslike  barrel  rested  on  the 
blue  cloth  of  his  knee,  and  the  blued  metal  reflected 
the  light  dully  from  its  surfaces. 

*'Is  it  dangerous?"  Ford  was  asking.  *'From  what 
I  can  tell  you,  do  you  think  there  's  any  real  danger? 
She  looks — ^she  looks  deadly." 

"Yes,  she  would,"  replied  the  Kafir  thoughtfully. 
"I  think  I  've  got  an  idea  how  things  stand.  As  long 
as  that  unconsciousness  lasts,  there  '11  be  no  more 
hemorrhage,  and  there  's  the  ergotin  too.  If  there  's 
nothing  else,  I  don't  see  that  it  should  be  serious — 
more  serious,  that  is,  than  hemorrhages  always  are." 

370 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

'*You  really  think  so?''  asked  Ford.  ''I  wish  you 
could  see  her  for  yourself,  and  make  certain.  Perhaps 
presently  that  swine  with  the  revolver  will  be  drunk 
enough  to  go  to  sleep  or  something,  and  we  might 
manage  it.'' 

The  Kafir  shook  his  head. 

*'If  it  were  necessary,  the  revolver  wouldn't  stop 
me,"  he  said.     ''But  as  it  is — " 

*'What?" 

'*0h,  do  you  think  it  would  make  things  better  for 
Miss  Harding  if  you  took  me  into  her  bedroom?  You 
see  what  has  happened  already,  because  she  has  spoken 
to  me  from  time  to  time.  How  would  this  sound,  when 
it  was  dished  up  for  circulation  in  the  dorps?" 

Ford  frowned  unhappily.  He  did  not  want  to  meet 
the  mournful  eyes  in  the  black  face. 

**You  think,"  he  began  hesitatingly — *'you  think  it 
— er — it  would  n  't  do  ? " 

''You  were  here  when  the  other  story  came  out,"  re- 
torted Kamis.  "Can  you  remember  what  you  thought 
then?" 

"Oh,  I  was  a  fool  of  course,"  said  Ford;  "but,  con- 
found it,  I  did  n  't  think  any  harm. ' ' 

"Didn't  you?  But  what  did  everybody  think? 
Isn't  it  true  that  as  a  result  of  all  that  was  said 
and  thought  Miss  Harding  has  to  risk  her  life  by  re- 
turning to  England?" 

"No,  it  wouldn't  do,  I  suppose,"  said  Ford.  "Be- 
tween us  we  've  made  it  a  pretty  tough  business  for 
her.    We  're  brutes." 

The  thick  negro  lips  parted  in  a  smile  that  was  not 
humorous. 

371 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

*'At  a  little  distance/'  said  Kamis,  *^say,  from  the 
other  side  of  the  color  line,  you  certainly  make  a  poor 
appearance. ' ' 

Mr.  Samson  made  his  entry  with  an  air  of  coming  to 
set  things  right  or  know  the  reason. 

**Well,  I  '11  be  hanged,"  he  exclaimed  in  the  door- 
way, making  a  sharp  inspection  of  the  scene. 

He  had  got  together  quite  a  plausible  equivalent 
for  his  daily  personality,  and  had  not  omitted  to  make 
his  mustache  recognizable  with  pomade.  A  New- 
market coat  concealed  most  of  his  deficiencies;  his 
monocle  made  the  rest  of  them  insignificant. 

Mrs.  Jakes  sighed  and  fidgeted. 

*'0h,  Mr.  Samson,"  she  said.  **What  can  I  say  to 
you?" 

*'Say  *  good-morning,'  "  suggested  Mr.  Samson,  with 
his  eye  on  Jakes.  "Better  send  for  the  *  boys'  to  carry 
him  up  to  bed,  to  begin  with — what?  Well,  Ford,  here 
I  am,  ready  and  waiting.     This  the  fellow,  eh?^' 

His  arrogant  gaze  rested  on  the  Kafir  intolerantly. 

''This  is  Kamis,"  said  Ford.  '*Dr.  Kamis,  of 
London,  by  the  way.  He  is  treating  Miss  Harding  at 
present." 

**Eh?"  Mr.  Samson  turned  on  him  abruptly. 
*'You  've  taken  him  up  there,  to  her  room?" 

' '  No, "  said  Ford.     ' '  Not  yet. ' ' 

''See  you  don't,  then,"  said  Mr.  Samson  strongly. 
"What  you  thinkin'  about.  Ford?  And  look  here, 
what 's  your  name!" — to  the  Kafir.  "You  speak 
English,  don't  you?  Well,  I  don't  want  to  hurt  your 
feelin's,  you  know,  but  you  've  got  to  understand  quite 
plainly — " 

Kamis  interrupted  him  suavely. 
372 


FLOWER  0^  THE  PEACH 

"Yon  need  n 't  trouble, ' '  he  said.  * ' I  quite  agree  with 
you.     I  was  just  telling  Mr.  Ford  the  same  thing.'' 

*'Were  you,  by  Jove,"  snorted  Mr.  Samson,  entirely 
unappeased.  **Pity  you  didn't  come  to  the  same  con- 
clusion a  month  ago.  You  may  be  a  doctor  and  all 
that;  I  Ve  no  means  of  disprovin'  what  you  say;  but 
in  so  far  as  you  •  compromised  little  Miss  Harding, 
you  're  a  black  cad.  Just  think  that  over,  will  you? 
Now,  Ford,  what  d' you  want  me  to  do?"  -^ 

There  was  power  of  a  sort  in  Mr.  Samson,  the  power 
of  unalterable  conviction  and  complete  sincerity.  In 
his  Newmarket  coat  and  checked  cloth  cap  he  thrust 
himself  with  fluency  into  the  scene  and  made  himself 
its  master.  He  gave  an  impression  of  din,  of  shouting 
and  tumult;  he  made  himself  into  a  clamorous  crowd. 
Mrs.  Jakes  trembled  under  his  glance  and  the  trooper 
blinked  servilely.  Ford,  concerned  chiefly  to  have  a 
messenger  despatched  without  delay,  bowed  to  the 
storm  and  gave  him  his  instructions  without  protest. 

**Mrnd,  now,"  stipulated  Mr.  Samson,  ere  he  de- 
parted on  his  errand;  **no  takin'  the  nigger  upstairs, 
Ford.     There  's  a  decency  in  these  affairs." 

The  trooper  nodded  solemnly  to  the  departing  flap  of 
the  Newmarket  tails,  making  their  exit  with  a  New- 
market aplomb. 

*' Noble  oP  buck,"  he  observed,  approvingly.  **Goo' 
style.     Gift  o'  the  gab.    Here  's  luck  to  him." 

He  gulped  noisily  in  his  glass,  spilling  the  liquor  on 
his  tunic  as  he  drank. 

**  Knows  nigger  when  he  sees  'im,"  he  said.  **Frien' 
o'  yours?" 

**Mr.  Samson,"  replied  Mrs.  Jakes  seriously,  **is  a 
very  old  friend." 

373 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

*^Goblessim,"  said  the  trooper.    *'Less  'ave  anurr." 

Kamis  and  Ford  regarded  one  another  as  Mr.  Sam- 
son left  them  and  both  were  a  little  embarrassed. 
Plain  speaking  is  always  a  brutality,  since  it  sets  every 
man  on  his  defense. 

*'I  'm  sorry  there  was  a  fuss,"  said  Ford  uncom- 
fortably. *'01d  Samson  'g  such  a  beggar  to  make 
rows. ' ' 

*'He  was  right,"  said  Kamis;  ** perfectly  right. 
Only — I  didn't  need  to  be  told.  I  Ve  been  cursing 
myself  ever  since  I  heard  that  the  thing  had  come 
out.  It  's  my  fault  altogether — and  I  knew  it  long 
before  the  row  happened,  and  I  let  it  go  on." 

Ford  nodded  with  his  eyes  on  the  ground. 

**You  could  hardly — order  her  off,"  he  said. 

**That  wasn't  it,"  answered  Kamis.  **Man,  I  was 
as  lonely  as  a  man  on  a  raft,  and  I  jumped  at  the 
chance  of  her  company  now  and  again.  I  sacrificed 
her,  I  tell  you.  Don't  try  to  make  excuses  for  me. 
I  won't  have  them.  Go  up  and  see  how  she  is.  What 
are  we  talking  here  for?" 

*'God  knows,"  said  Ford  drearily.  '^What  else  is 
there  to  do?    We  've  both  wronged  her,  haven't  we?" 

There  was  no  change  in  Margaret;  she  was  as  he  had 
left  her,  pallid  and  motionless,  a  temptation  to  death. 

Fat  Mary  was  asleep  in  the  armchair,  gross  and  dis- 
gustful, and  he  woke  her  with  the  heel  of  his  slipper 
on  her  big  splay  foot.  She  squeaked  and  came  to  life 
angrily  and  reported  no  movement  from  Margaret.  He 
had  an  impulse  to  hit  her,  she  was  so  obviously  pre- 
pared to  say  anything  he  seemed  to  require  and  she  was 
so  little  like  a  woman.  It  was  impossible  in  reason  and 
sentiment  to  connect  her  with  the  still,  fragile  form 

374 


FLOWER  0^  THE  PEACH 

on  the  bed,  and  lie  had  to  exercise  an  actual  and  con- 
scious restraint  to  refrain  from  an  openhanded  smack 
on  her  bulging  and  fatuous  countenance.  He  could 
only  call  her  wounding  names,  and  he  did  so.  She 
drooped  her  lower  lip  at  him  piteously  and  again  he 
yearned  to  punch  her. 

There  was  no  change  to  report  to  Kamis,  who  nodded 
at  his  account  and  spoke  a  perfunctory,  **A11  right 
Thanks."  The  trooper  sat  in  a  daze,  scowling  at  his 
boots;  Mrs.  Jakes  was  lost  in  thought;  the  doctor  had 
not  moved.  Ford  fidgeted  to  and  fro  between  the 
desk  and  the  door  for  a  while  and  finally  went  out  to 
the  stoep  and  walked  to  and  fro  along  its  length,  try- 
ing to  realize  and  to  feel  what  was  happening. 

He  knew  that  he  was  not  appreciating  the  matter 
as  a  whole.  He  was  like  a  man  dully  afflicted,  to 
whom  momentary  details  are  present  and  apparent, 
while  the  sum  of  his  trouble  is  uncomprehended.  He 
could  dislike  the  apprehensive  and  timidly  presumptu- 
ous face  of  the  trooper,  pity  Mrs.  Jakes,  distaste  Mr. 
Samson's  forceful  loudness,  smell  the  foulness  of  the 
study  and  wonder  at  the  Kafir;  but  the  looming  essen- 
tial fact  that  Margaret  lay  in  a  swoon  on  her  bed, 
lacking  the  aid  due  to  her  and  in  danger  of  death 
in  a  dozen  forms — that  had  been  vague  and  diffused 
in  his  understanding.  He  had  not  known  it  passion- 
ately, poignantly,  in  its  full  dreadfulness. 

He  told  himself  the  facts  carefully,  going  over  them 
with  a  patient  emphasis  to  point  them  at  himself. 

** Margaret  may  die;  it's  very  likely  she  will,  with 
only  a  fool  like  me  to  see  how  she  looks.  I  never 
called  her  Margaret  till  to-day — but  it  's  yesterday 
now.    And  here  's  this  damned  story  about  her,  which 

375 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

every  one  knows  wrongly  and  adds  lies  to  when  lie 
tells  it.  It  would  look  queer  on  the  stage — ^Kamis  doc- 
toring her  like  this.  But  the  point  is — she  may  die." 
The  sky  was  full  of  stars,  white  and  soft  and  misty, 
like  tearful  eyes,  and  the  Southern  Cross,  in  which  he 
had  never  been  able  to  detect  anything  like  a  cross, 
rode  high.  He  could  not  hold  his  thoughts  from  wan- 
dering to  it  and  the  absurdity  of  calling  a  mere 
blotch  like  that  a  cross.  Heaps  of  other  stars  that  did 
make  crosses — neat  and  obvious  ones.  The  sky  was 
full  of  crosses,  for  that  matter.  Astronomers  were 
asses,  all  of  them.  But  the  point  was,  Margaret  might 
die. 

*'That  you,  FordT' 

Mr.  Samson  was  coming  up  the  steps  and  with  him 
were  Christian  du  Preez  and  his  wife. 

'* These  good  people  are  anxious  to  help,"  explained 
Mr.  Samson.  *'Very  good  of  'em— what?  And  young 
Paul  's  gone  off  on  a  little  stallion  to  send  Dr.  Van 
CoUer.  Turned  out  at  the  word  like  a  fire  engine  and 
was  off  like  winkin'.  Never  saw  anything  smarter. 
If  the  doctor  's  half  as  smart  he  '11  be  here  in  four 
hours." 

'^That  's  good,"  said  Ford. 

'*And  Mrs.  du  Preez  '11  stay  with  Miss  Harding  an' 
do  what  she  can,"  said  Mr.  Samson. 

'*I  '11  do  any  blessed  thing,"  declared  Mrs.  du  Preez 
with  energy. 

Mr.  Samson  stood  aside  to  let  his  companions  enter 
the  house  before  him.  He  whispered  with  buoyant 
force  to  Ford. 

*'A  chaperon  to  the  rescue,"  he  said.  **We  've  got 
a  chaperon,  and  the  rest  follows.    You  see  if  it  don't." 

376 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

There  was  a  brief  interview  between  Mrs.  du  Preez 
and  the  Kafir  under  the  eyes  of  the  tall  Boer.  Mr. 
Samson  had  already  informed  them  of  the  situation 
in  the  study,  and  they  were  not  taken  by  surprise,  and 
the  Kafir  fell  in  adroitly  with  the  tone  they  took. 
Ford  thought  that  Mrs.  du  Preez  displayed  a  curious 
timidity  before  the  negro,  a  conspicuous  improvement 
on  her  usual  perky  cocksureness. 

**Just  let  me  know  if  there  is  any  change, ''  Kamis 
said  to  her.  *'That  is  all.  If  she  recovers  conscious- 
ness, for  instance,  come  to  me  at  once." 

*'I  will,"  answered  Mrs.  du  Preez,  with  subdued 
fervor. 

There  seemed  nothing  left  for  Ford  to  do.  Mrs.  du 
Preez  departed  to  her  watch,  and  it  was  at  least  sat- 
isfactory to  know  that  Fat  Mary  would  now  have  to 
deal  with  one  who  would  beat  her  on  the  first  occa- 
sion without  compunction.  Mr.  Samson  and  the  Boer 
departed  to  the  drawing-room  in  search  of  a  breathable 
air,  and  after  an  awkward  while  Ford  followed  them 
thither. 

**Ah!"  exclaimed  Mr.  Samson,  as  he  appeared. 
'*Here  you  are.  You  'd  better  try  and  snooze,  Ford. 
Been  up  all  night,  haven't  you?" 

**  Pretty  nearly,"  admitted  Ford.  **I  couldn't 
sleep,  though." 

**You  try,"  recommended  Mr.  Samson  urgently. 
**Lie  down  on  the  couch  and  have  a  shot.  You  're 
done  up;  you're  not  yourself.  What  d'you  think, 
Du  Preez?  He  was  nearly  takin'  that  nigger  up  to 
Miss  Harding's  room.     What  d'you  think  of  that,  eh?" 

He  was  sitting  on  the  music  stool,  an  urbane  and 
adequate  presence. 

377 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

The  Boer  shook  his  head.  **That  would  be  bad,"  he 
said  seriously.  *'He  is  a  good  nigger — ya!  But  better 
she  should  die.'* 

Ford  laughed  wearily  as  he  sat  down.  ^'That  was  his 
idea,"  hie  said. 

He  leaned  back  to  listen  to  their  talk.  Sleep,  he 
felt,  was  far  from  him.  Margaret  might  die — that  had 
to  be  kept  in  mind.  He  heard  them  discuss  the  Kafir 
stupidly,  ridiculously.  It  was  pothouse  talk,  the 
chatter  of  companionable  fools,  frothing  round  and 
round  their  topic.  Their  minds  were  rigid  like  a  pair 
of  stiffened  corpses  set  facing  one  another;  they  never 
reached  an  imaginative  hand  towards  the  wonder  and 
pity  of  the  matter.  And  Margaret — the  beautiful 
name  that  it  was — Margaret  might  die. 

Half  an  hour  later,  Mr.  Samson  slewed  his  monocle 
towards  him. 

*'Sleepin'  after  all,"  he  remarked.  "Poor  devil — 
no  vitality.     Not  like  you  an'  me,  Du  Preez— what?" 

Ford  knew  he  had  slept  when  the  Boer  woke  him 
in  the  broad  daylight. 

"The  doctor  is  here,"  said  Christian.  "He  says  it 
is  all  right.  He  says — she  has  been  done  right  with. 
She  will  not  die." 

"Thank  God,"  said  Ford. 

Mr.  Samson  was  in  the  room.  The  daylight  showed 
the  incompleteness  of  his  toilet;  he  was  a  mere  imita- 
tion of  his  true  self.  His  triumphant  smile  failed  to 
redeem  him.     The  bald  truth  was — he  was  not  dressed. 

"Everything  's  as  right  as  rain,"  he  declared, 
wagging  his  tousled  white  head.  "Sit  where  you  are, 
my  boy;  there  's  nothing  for  you  to  do.  Dr.  Van 
Coller  had  an  infernal  thing  he  calls  a  motor-bicycle, 

378 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

and  it  brought  him  the  twenty-two  miles  in  fifty  min- 
utes. Makes  a  noise  like  a  traction  engine  and  stinks 
like  the  dickens.  Got  an  engine  of  sorts,  you  know, 
and  goes  like  anything.  But  the  point  is,  Miss  Hard- 
ing 's  going  on  like  a  house  on  fire.  Your  nigger-man 
and  you  did  just  the  right  thing,  it  appears.'' 

'* Where  is  he?"  asked  Ford. 

**The  nigger-man?'' 

Mr.  Samson  and  the  Boer  exchanged  glances. 

**Look  here,"  said  Mr.  Samson;  **Du  Preez  and  I 
had  an  understanding  about  it,  but  don't  let  it  go 
any  further.  You  see,  after  all  that  has  happened, 
we  could  n  't  let  the  chap  go  to  gaol.  No  sense  in  that. 
So  the  bobby  being  as  drunk  as  David's  sow,  I  had  a 
word  with  him.  I  told  him  I  didn't  retract  anything, 
but  we  were  all  open  to  make  mistakes,  and — to  cut  it 
short — he  'd  better  get  away  while  he  had  the  chance." 

* '  Yes, ' '  said  Ford.    *  *  Did  he  ? " 

**He  didn't  want  to  at  first,"  replied  Mr.  Samson. 
**His  idea  was  that  he  had  to  clear  himself  of  the 
charge  on  which  he  was  arrested.  Sedition,  you  know. 
All  rot,  of  course,  but  that  was  his  idea.  So  I 
promised  to  write  to  old  Bill  Winter — feller  that  owes 
me  money — he  's  governor  of  the  Cape,  or  something, 
and  put  it  to  him  straight." 

**He  will  write  to  him  and  say  it  is  lies,"  said  the 
Boer.    **He  knows  him." 

**Know  him,"  cried  Mr.  Samson.  *' Never  paid  me 
a  bet  he  lost,  confound  him.  Regular  old  welcher. 
Bill  is.  Van  Coller  chipped  in  too — treated  him  like 
an  equal.  And  in  the  end  he  went.  Van  Coller  says 
he  'd  like  to  have  had  his  medical  education.  I  say, 
what 's  that?" 

379 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

A  sudden  noise  had  interrupted  him,  a  sharp  report 
from  somewhere  within  the  house.  The  Boer  nodded 
slowly,  and  made  for  the  door. 

**That  policeman  has  shot  somebody/*  he  said. 

Dr.  Jakes  waked  to  the  morning  light  with  a  taste 
in  his  mouth  which  was  none  the  more  agreeable  for 
being  familiar.  He  opened  his  hot  eyes  to  the  strange 
disarray  of  his  study,  the  open  door  and  the  somnolent 
form  of  the  policeman,  and  sat  up  with  a  jerk,  almost 
sober.  He  stared  around  him  uncomprehending. 
The  lamp  burned  yet,  and  the  room  was  stiflingly  hot; 
the  curtains  had  not  been  put  back  and  the  air  was 
heavy  and  foul.  He  got  shakily  to  his  feet  and  went 
towards  the  hall.  His  wife,  with  coffee  cups  on  a 
tray,  was  coming  down  the  stairs.  She  saw  him  and 
put  the  tray  down  on  the  table  against  the  wall  and 
went  to  him. 

**Well,  Eustace?"  she  said  tonelessly.  **What  is  it 
now?'' 

He  cleared  his  burning  throat.  **Who  opened  the 
door?''  he  asked  hoarsely. 

She  shook  her  head.  '*I  don't  know,"  she  an- 
swered. *  *  It  does  n  't  matter — ^we  're  ruined  at  last. 
It  's  come,  Eustace." 

He  made  strange  grimaces  in  an  endeavor  to  clear 
his  mind  and  grasp  what  she  was  saying.  She  watched 
him  unmoved,  and  went  on  to  tell  him,  in  short  bald 
sentences  of  the  night's  events. 

**Dr.  Van  Coller  will  be  down  presently,"  she  con^ 
eluded.  **He  '11  want  to  see  you,  but  you  can  lock 
your  door  if  you  like.     He  's  seen  me  already." 

He  had  her  meaning  at  last.  He  blinked  at  her 
380 


FLOWER  0*  THE  PEACH 

owlishly,  incapable  of  expressing  the  half-thoughts  that 
dodged  in  his  drugged  brain. 

''Poor  old  Hester,'*  he  said,  at  last,  and  turned 
heavily  back  to  his  study. 

Mrs.  Jakes  smiled  in  pity  and  despair,  and  took  up 
her  tray  again;  She  thought  she  knew  better  than 
he  how  poor  she  was. 

He  slammed  the  door  behind  him,  but  he  did  not 
trouble  to  lock  it.  Something  he  had  seen  when  he 
opened  his  eyes  stuck  in  his  mind,  and  he  went  stag- 
geringly round  the  untidy  desk,  with  its  bottles  and 
papers,  to  where  the  policeman  sprawled  in  a  chair 
with  his  Punchinello  chin  on  his  breast.  His  loose 
hands  retained  yet  the  big  revolver. 

*'He  11  come  to  it  too,'*  was  Dr.  Jakes'  thought  as 
he  looked  down  on  him.  He  drew  the  weapon  with 
precaution  from  the  man's  hand. 

He  stood  an  instant  in  thought,  looking  at  its  neat 
complication  of  mechanism  and  then  raised  it  slowly 
till  the  small  round  of  the  muzzle  returned  his  look. 
His  face  clenched  in  desperate  resolution.  But  he  did 
not  pull  the  trigger.  At  the  critical  moment,  his  eye 
caught  the  lamp,  burning  brazenly  on  the  wall.  He 
went  over  and  turned  it  out. 

**Now,"  he  said,  and  raised  the  revolver  again. 


381 


CHAPTER  XIX 

UPON  that  surprising  morning  when  Mr.  Sam- 
son, taking  his  early  constitutional,  was  a  witness 
to  the  cloud  that  rode  across  the  sun  and  presently 
let  go  its  burden  of  wet  to  fall  upon  the  startled 
earth  in  slashing,  roaring  sheets  of  rain,  there  stood 
luggage  in  the  hall,  strapped,  locked,  and  ready  for 
transport. 

*'Gad!"  said  Mr.  Samson,  breathless  in  the  front 
door  and  backing  from  the  splashes  of  wet  that  leaped 
on  the  railing  of  the  stoep  and  drove  inwards. 
''They  '11  have  a  wet  ride." 

He  flicked  at  spots  of  water  on  the  glossy  surface  of 
his  gray  coat  and  watched  the  rain  drive  across  and 
hide  the  Karoo  like  a  steel-hued  fog.  The  noise  of  it, 
after  months  of  sun  and  stillness,  was  distracting;  it 
threshed  vehemently  with  uproar  and  power,  in  the  ex- 
travagant fashion  of  those  latitudes.  It  was  the  sig- 
nal that  the  weather  had  broken,  justifying  at  length 
Mrs.  Jakes'  conversational  gambit. 

She  came  from  the  breakfast-room  while  he  watched, 
with  the  wind  from  the  open  door  romping  in  her  thin 
skirts,  and  stood  beside  him  to  look  out.  They  ex- 
changed good  mornings. 

''Isn't  it  wet?"  said  Mrs.  Jakes  resourcefully. 
**But  I  dare  say  it  's  good  for  the  country." 

"Rather,"  agreed  Mr.  Samson.     "It  '11  be  all  green 
382 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

before  you  know  it.  But  damp  for  the  travelers — 
whatr' 

''They  will  have  the  hood  on  the  cart,"  replied  Mrs. 
Jakes. 

She  was  not  noticeably  changed  since  the  doctor's 
death,  three  weeks  before.  Her  clothes  had  always 
been  black,  so  that  she  was  exempt  from  the  gruesome 
demands  of  custom  to  advertise  her  loss  in  her  gar- 
ments. The  long  habit  of  shielding  3"akes  from  open 
shame  had  become  a  part  of  her;  so  that  instead  of 
abandoning  her  lost  position,  she  was  already  in  the 
way  of  canonizing  him.  She  made  reverential  refer- 
ences to  his  professional  skill,  to  his  goodness,  his 
learning,  his  sacrifices  to  duty.  She  looked  people 
steadily  and  defiantly  in  the  eyes  as  she  said  so,  and 
had  her  own  way  with  them.  The  foundations  were 
laid  of  a  tradition  which  presented  poor  Jakes  in  a 
form  he  would  never  have  recognized.  He  was  in  his 
place  behind  the  barbed  wire  out  on  the  veld,  sharing 
the  bed  of  little  Eustace,  heedless  that  there  was  build- 
ing for  him  a  mausoleum  of  good  report  and  loyal 
praise. 

*'Hate  to  see  luggage  in  a  house,''  remarked  Mr. 
Samson,  as  they  passed  the  pile  in  the  hall  on  their 
way  to  the  breakfast-room.  *' Nothing  upsets  a  house 
like  luggage.  Looks  so  bally  unsettled,  don't  you 
know." 

** Things  are  a  little  unsettled,"  agreed  Mrs.  Jakes 
civilly.  ''What  with  the  rain  and  everything,  it 
doesn't  seem  like  the  same  place,  does  it?" 

She  gave  a  tone  of  mild  complaint  to  her  voice,  ex- 
actly as  though  a  disturbance  in  the  order  of  her  life 
were  a  thing  to  be  avoided.    It  would  not  have  been 

383 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

consistent  with  the  figure  of  the  late  Jakes,  as  she 
was  sedulous  to  present  it,  if  she  had  admitted  that 
the  house  and  its  routine,  its  purpose,  its  atmosphere, 
its  memories,  the  stones  in  its  walls  and  the  tiles  on 
its  roof,  were  the  objects  of  her  living  hate.  She  was 
already  in  negotiations  for  the  sale  of  it  and  what  she 
called  "the  connection,"  and  had  called  Mr.  Samson 
and  Ford  into  consultation  over  correspondence  with 
a  doctor  at  Port  Elizabeth,  who  wrote  with  a  type- 
writer and  was  inquisitive  about  balance-sheets. 
Throughout  the  consequent  discussions  she  maintained 
an  air  of  gentle  and  patient  regret,  an  attitude  of  re- 
signed sentiment,  the  exact  manner  of  a  lady  in  a  story 
who  sells  the  home  of  her  ancestors  to  a  company 
promoter.  Even  her  anxiety  to  sell  Ford  and  Mr. 
Samson  along  with  the  house  did  not  cause  her  to  de- 
flect for  an  instant  from  the  course  of  speech  and 
action  she  had  selected.  There  were  yet  Penfolds  in 
Putney  and  Clapham  Junction,  and  when  the  sale  was 
completed  she  would  see  them  again  and  rejoin  their 
congenial  circle;  but  her  joy  at  the  prospect  was  pri- 
vate, her  final  and  transcendent  secret. 

Nothing  is  more  natural  to  man  than  to  pose;  by  a 
posture,  he  can  correct  the  crookedness  of  his  nature 
and  be  for  himself,  and  sometimes  for  others  too,  the 
thing  he  would  be.  It  is  the  instinct  towards  pro- 
tective coloring  showing  itself  through  broadcloth  and 
bombazine. 

Mr.  Samson  accepted  his  coffee  and  let  his  monocle 
fall  into  it,  a  sign  that  he  was  discomposed  to  an 
unusual  degree.     He  sat  wiping  it  and  frowning. 

**Did  I  tell  you,"  he  said  suddenly,  ^'that — er — that 
Kafir  's  going  to  look  in  just  before  they  start?'* 

384 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

Mrs.  Jakes  looked  up  sharply. 

**You  mean — that  Kamis?"  she  demanded.  *'He  's 
coming  heref 

**Ye-es,"  said  Mr.  Samson.  ''Just  for  a  minute  or 
two.     Er — Ford  knows  about  it. ' ' 

**To  see  Miss  Harding,  I  suppose?"  inquired  Mrs. 
Jakes,  with  a  sniff. 

*'Yes,"  replied  Mr.  Samson  again.  *'It  isn't  my 
idea  of  things,  but  then,  things  have  turned  out  so 
dashed  queer,  don't  you  know.  He  wrote  to  ask  if  he 
might  say  good-by;  very  civil,  reasonable  kind  of  let- 
ter; Ford  brought  it  to  me  an'  asked  my  opinion. 
Couldn't  overlook  the  fact  that  he  had  a  hand  in  sav- 
ing her  life,  you  know.  So  on  my  advice,  Ford  wrote 
to  the  feller  saying  that  if  he  'd  understand  there  was 
going  to  be  no  private  interview,  or  anything  of  that 
kind,  he  could  turn  up  at  ten  o'clock  an'  take  his 
chance." 

*'But,"  said  Mrs.  Jakes  hopefully,  ''supposing  the 
police — " 

"Bless  you,  that  's  all  right,"  Mr.  Samson  assured 
her.  "The  police  don't  want  to  see  him  again.  Seems 
that  old  Bill  Winter — ^you  know  I  wrote  to  him? 
— seems  that  old  Bill  went  to  work  like  the  dashed  old 
beaver  he  is,  and  had  Van  Zyl's  head  on  a  charger 
for  his  breakfast.  The  Kafir-man  's  got  a  job  of  some 
sort,  doctorin'  niggers  somewhere.  The  police  nev^r 
mention  him  any  more." 

"Well,"  said  Mrs.  Jakes,  "I  can't  prevent  you,  of 
course,  from  bringing  Kafirs  here,  Mr.  Samson,  but 
I  've  got  my  feelings.  When  I  think  of  poor  Eustace, 
and  that  Kafir  thrusting  himself  in — well,  there!" 

Mr.  Samson  drank  deep  of  his  coffee,  trying  vaguely 
25  385 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

to  suggest  in  his  manner  of  drinking  profound  sym- 
pathy with  Mrs.  Jakes  and  respect  for  what  she  some- 
times called  the  departed.  Also,  the  cup  hid  her  from 
him. 

It  was  strange  how  the  presence  of  Margaret's  lug- 
gage in  the  hall  pervaded  the  house  with  a  sense  of 
impermanence  and  suspense.  It  gave  even  to  the 
breakfast  the  flavor  of  the  mouthful  one  snatches  while 
turning  over  the  baffling  pages  of  the  timetable. 
Ford,  when  he  came  in,  was  brusk  and  irresponsive, 
though  he  was  not  going  anywhere,  and  Margaret's 
breakfast  went  upstairs  on  a  tray.  Kafir  servants  were 
giggling  and  whispering  up  and  down  stairs  and  were 
obviously  interested  in  the  leather  trunks.  A  house 
with  packed  luggage  in  it  has  no  character  of  a  dwell- 
ing; it  is  only  a  stopping-place,  a  minister  to  transi- 
tory needs.  As  well  have  a  cofiin  in  the  place  as  lug- 
gage ready  for  removal;  between  them,  they  comprise 
all  that  is  removable  in  human  kind. 

''Well,"  said  Mr.  Samson  to  Ford,  attempting  con- 
versation; ''we  're  goin'  to  have  the  place  to  ourselves 
again.     Eh?" 

"You  seem  pleased,"  replied  Ford  unamiably. 

"I  'm  bearin'  up,"  said  Mr.  Samson.  "You  seem 
grieved,  though." 

"That,"  said  Ford,  with  venom,  "is  because  I  'm 
being  bored." 

"The  deuce  you  are."  Mr.  Samson  was  annoyed. 
"I  don't  want  to  talk  to  you,  you  know.  Sulk  all  you 
want  to;  doesn't  affect  me.  But  if  you  could  substi- 
tute a  winnin'  smile  for  the  look  you  're  wearin'  at 
present,  it  would  be  more  appetizin'." 

386 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 


<f 


Er — the  rain  seems  to  be  drawing-off,  I  think/* 
remarked  Mrs.  Jakes,  energetically.  * '  It  might  be  quite 
fine   by-and-by.    "What   do  you   think,   Mr.    Samson?" 

Mr.  Samson,  ever  obedient  to  her  prompting,  made 
an  inspection  of  the  prospect  through  the  window.  But 
his  sense  of  injury  was  strong. 

*' There  are  things  much  more  depressing  than  rain," 
he  said,  rancorously,  and  occupied  himself  pointedly 
with  his  food. 

Ford  made  his  apology  as  soon  as  they  were  free 
from  Mrs,  Jakes.  She  had  much  to  do  in  the  unseen 
organization  of  the  departure,  and  apologized  for  leav- 
ing them  to  themselves.  It  was  another  adjunct  of 
the  luggage ;  not  within  the  memory  of  man  had  inmates 
of  the  Sanatorium  sat  at  table  without  Mrs.  Jakes. 

''Sorry,"  said  Ford  then,  in  a  matter-of-fact  way. 

"Are  you?"  said  Mr.  Samson  grudgingly.  *'A11 
right." 

And  that  closed  the  incident. 

Soon  after  breakfast,  when  the  stoep  was  still  unin- 
habitable and  the  drawing-room  unthinkable  and  the 
hall  uncongenial,  Margaret  came  downstairs,  unfa- 
miliar in  clothes  which  the  Sanatorium  had  not  seen 
before.  Mrs.  Jakes  made  mental  notes  of  them,  gazing 
with  narrow  eyes  and  lips  moving  in  a  soundless  in- 
ventory.    She  came  down  smiling  but  uncertain. 

**I  didn't  know  it  could  rain,"  was  her  greeting. 
**Did  you  see  the  beginning  of  it?  It  was  wonderful 
— like  an  eruption." 

**I  saw  it,"  said  Mr.  Samson.  '*I  got  wet  in  it. 
It  '11  be  cool  for  your  drive  to  the  station,  even  if  it  's 
a  bit  damp." 

387 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

'*  There  's  still  half  an  hour  to  wait  before  the  cart 
comes,"  said  Margaret.  ** Where  does  one  sit  when 
it  's  raining?" 

''One  doesn%"  said  Mr.  Samson.  *'One  stands 
about  in  draughts  and  one  frets,  one  does." 

''Come  into  the  drawing-room,"  said  Ford  briefly. 

Margaret  looked  at  him  with  a  smile  for  his  serious- 
ness and  his  manner  of  one  who  desires  to  get  to  busi- 
ness, but  she  yielded,  and  Mr.  Samson  ambled  in  their 
wake,  never  doubting  that  he  was  of  their  company. 
Ford,  holding  the  door  open  for  Margaret,  surprised 
him  with  a  forbidding  scowl. 

"We  don't  want  you,"  he  whispered  fiercely,  and 
shut  the  affronted  and  uncomprehending  old  gentle- 
man out. 

The  drawing-room  was  forlorn  and  very  shabby  in  the 
cold  light  of  the  rainy  day  and  the  tattoo  of  the  rain- 
splashes  on  its  window.  Margaret  went  to  the  hearth 
where  Dr.  Jakes  had  been  wont  to  expiate  his  crimes, 
and  leaned  her  arm  on  the  mantel,  looking  about  the 
apartment. 

"It  's  queer,"  she  said;  "I  shall  miss  this." 

' '  Margaret, ' '  said  Ford. 

She  turned  to  him,  still  smiling.  She  answered 
nothing,  but  waited  for  him  to  continue. 

"I  wanted  to  tell  you  something,"  he  went  on 
steadily.     "You  know  I  love  you,  don't  you?" 

"Yes,"  she  answered  slowly.     "You — you  said  so." 

"I  said  it  because  I  do,"  he  said.  "Well,  Dr.  Van 
Coller  was  here  yesterday,  and  when  he  had  done 
with  you,  I  had  a  word  with  him.  I  wanted  to  know 
if  I  could  go  Home  too;  so  he  came  up  to  my  room 
and  made  an  examination  of  me,  a  careful  one. ' ' 

388 


FLOWER  0^  THE  PEACH 

Margaret  had  ceased  to  smile.  *'Yes/'  she  said. 
'*Tell  me:  what  did  he  sayT' 

'*He  said  No,"  replied  Ford.  *'I  mustn't  leave 
here.     He  was  very  clear  about  it.     I  've  got  to  stay.'' 

The  emphasis  with  which  he  spoke  was  merely  to 
make  her  understand;  he  invited  no  pity  for  himself 
and  felt  none.     He  was  merely  giving  information. 

*'But,"  said  Margaret, — ''never?  It  isn't  as  bad 
as  that,  is  it?" 

*'He  couldn't  tell.  He  isn't  really  a  lung  man, 
you  know.  But  it  doesn't  make  any  real  difference, 
now  you  're  going.  Two  years  or  ten  years  or  for- 
ever— ^you  '11  be  away  among  other  people  and  I  '11  be 
here  and  the  gap  between  us  will  be  wider  every  day. 
We  've  been  friends  and  I  had  hopes — nothing  cures 
a  chap  of  hoping,  not  even  his  lungs;  but  now  I  've 
got  to  cure  myself  of  it,  because  it 's  no  use.  I  would 
n't  have  told  you,  Margaret — " 

''Yes,  you  would,"  interrupted  Margaret.  *'You 
wouldn't  have  let  me  go  away  without  knowing,  since 
you — ^you  love  me." 

"That's  it,  exactly."  He  nodded;  he  had  been 
making  a  point  and  she  had  seen  it.  "I  felt  you  were 
entitled  to  know,  but  I  can 't  say  why.  You  understand, 
though,  don't  you?" 

"Yes,"  she  said.     "I  understand." 

"I  knew  you  would,"  he  answered.  "And  jou 
won't  think  I  'm  whining.  I  'm  not.  I  'm  so  thank- 
ful that  we  've  been  together  and  understood  each 
other  and  that  I  love  you  that  I  don't  reckon  myself 
a  loser  in  the  end.  It  's  all  been  pure  gain  to  me. 
As  long  as  I  live  I  shall  be  better  off  for  it;  I  shall 
live  on  it  always  and  never  let  any  of  it  go.     If  I  never 

389 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

see  you  again,  I  shall  still  be  to  the  good.  But  perhaps 
I  shall.     God  knows/' 

'*0h,  you  will,"  cried  Margaret.  '^You  're  sure 
to.'' 

He  smiled  suddenly.  *'That  's  what  I  tell  myself. 
If  I  get  all  right,  it  '11  be  the  easiest  thing  in  the  world. 
I  '11  come  and  call  on  you,  wherever  you  happen  to  be, 
and  send  in  my  card.  And  if  I  'm  not  going  to  get 
well,  I  shall  have  to  know  it  sooner  or  later,  and  then, 
if  you  'd  let  me,  I  'd  come  just  the  same. 

'*I  shouldn't  expect  anything,"  he  added  quickly. 
**Not  a  single  thing.  Don't  be  afraid  of  that.  Just 
send  in  my  card,  as  I  said,  and  see  you  again  and  talk 
to  you,  and  call  you  Margaret.  I  wouldn't  cadge;  you 
could  trust  me  not  to  do  that,  at  least." 

*'You  must  get  well  and  then  come,"  said  the  girl 
softly.  *'And  if  you  call  me  Margaret,  I  will  call 
you — " 

She  stopped.  *'I  never  heard  your  Christian 
name,"  she  said. 

''Just  John,"  he  answered,  smiling.  ''John — not 
Jack  or  anything.  I  will  come,  you  can  be  sure. 
Either  free  or  a  ticket-of-leave,  I  '11  come.  And  now, 
say  good-by.  I  mustn't  keep  you  any  longer;  I  've 
hurt  old  Samson's  feelings  as  it  is.  Good-by,  Margaret. 
You  '11  get  well  in  Switzerland,  but  you  won't  forget 
the  Karoo,  will  you?     Good-by." 

"I  won't  forget  anything,"  said  Margaret,  with  eyes 
that  were  bright  and  tender.  "Good-by.  When  your 
card  comes  in,  I  shall  be  ever  so  glad.     Good-by." 

There  was  a  fidgety  interval  before  the  big  cart  drove 
up  to  the  house,  its  wheels  rending  through  the  gritty 
mud  and  its  horses  steaming  as  though  they  had  been 

390 


FLOWER  0^  THE  PEACH 

boiled.  Mr.  Samson  employed  each  interlude  in  the 
talk  to  glare  at  Ford  in  lofty  offense;  he  seemed  only 
to  be  waiting  till  this  dull  business  of  departure  was  con- 
cluded to  call  him  to  account.  Mrs.  du  Preez,  who  had 
come  across  in  the  cart  to  bid  Margaret  farewell,  was 
welcome  as  a  diversion. 

''Well,  where  's  the  lucky  one?"  she  cried.  *'Ah, 
Miss  Harding,  can't  you  smell  London  from  here?  If 
you  could  bottle  that  smell,  with  a  drop  o'  fog,  a  drop 
o'  dried  fish  and  a  drop  o'  Underground  Eailway  to 
bring  out  the  flavor,  you  'd  make  a  fortune,  sellin'  it 
to  us  poor  Afrikanders.  But  you  '11  be  sniffin'  it  from 
the  cask  in  three  weeks  from  now.  Lord,  I  wish  it  was 
me." 

*'You  ought  to  make  a  trip,"  suggested  Margaret. 

''Christian  don't  think  so,"  declared  Mrs.  du  Preez, 
with  her  shrill  laugh.  "He  knows  I  'd  stick  where  I 
touched  like  a  fly  in  a  jam-pot,  and  he  'd  have  to  come 
and  pull  me  out  of  it  himself." 

She  took  an  occasion  to  drop  a  private  whisper  into 
Margaret's  ear. 

"Kamis  is  outside,  waitin'  to  see  you  go.  He  's 
talkin'  to  Paul." 

The  farewells  accomplished  themselves.  That  of  Mrs. 
'Jakes  would  have  been  particularly  effective  but  for  the 
destructive  intrusion  of  Mrs.  du  Preez. 

"Er — a  pleasant  voyage.  Miss  Harding,"  she  said, 
in  a  thin  voice.  "I  may  be  in  London  soon  myself — 
at  Putney.  But  I  suppose  we  're  hardly  likely  to  meet 
before  you  go  abroad  again." 

"I  wonder,"  said  Margaret  peaceably. 

It  was  then  that  Mrs.  du  Preez  struck  in. 

"Putney,"  she  said,  in  a  loud  and  callous  voice,  in 
391 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

itself  sufficient  to  scrape  Mrs.  Jakes  raw.  *' South  the 
water,  eh?  But  you  can  easy  run  up  to  London  from 
there  if  Miss  Harding  sends  for  you,  can't  you?" 

Kamis  came  eagerly  to  the  foot  of  the  steps  as  Mar- 
garet came  down,  and  Mr.  Samson,  with  a  loud  cough, 
posted  himself  at  the  head  of  them  to  superintend. 

'^I  am  glad  you  came,"  said  Margaret.  *'I  didn't 
want  to  go  away  without  seeing  you. ' ' 

He  glanced  up  at  Mr.  Samson  and  the  others,  a  con- 
scientious audience  ranged  above  him,  deputies  of  the 
Colonial  Mrs.  Grundy,  and  smiled  comprehendingly. 

*'0h,  I  had  to  come,"  he  said.  **I  had  to  bid  you 
good-by . '  * 

There  was  no  change  in  his  appearance  since  she  had 
seen  him  last.  His  tweed  clothes  were  worn  and  shabby 
as  ever,  and  still  strange  in  connection  with  his  negro 
face. 

*'And  I  wanted  to  thank  you  for  what  you  did  for 
me  that  night,"  said  Margaret  earnestly.  **It  was  a 
horrible  thing,  wasn't  it?  But  I  hear — I  have  heard 
that  it  has  come  all  right." 

Mr.  Samson  coughed  again.  Mrs.  Jakes,  with  an  el- 
bow in  each  hand,  coughed  also. 

''All  right  for  me,  certainly,"  the  Kafir  answered. 
*'They  have  given  me  something  to  do.  There  's  an  ep- 
idemic of  smallpox  among  the  natives  in  the  Transkei, 
and  I  'm  to  go  there  at  once.  It  couldn't  be  better 
for  me.    But  you.     How  about  you?" 

The  Kafir  boys  who  were  carrying  out  the  trunks  and 
stacking  them  under  Paul's  directions  in  the  cart  were 
eyeing  them  curiously,  and  the  audience  above  never 
wavered  in  its  solemn  watch.  It  was  ridiculous  and  ex- 
asperating. 

392 


FLOWER  0'  THE  PEACH 

'*0h,  I  shall  do  very  well,"  said  Margaret,  striving 
to  be  impervious  to  the  influence  of  those  serious  eyes. 
* '  You  have  my  address,  have  n  't  you  ?  You  must  write 
me  how  you  get  on." 

* '  If  you  like, ' '  he  agreed. 

^^You  must,"  she  said.  **I  shall  be  keen  to  hear.  I 
believed  in  you  when  nobody  else  did,  except  Paul." 

A  frightful  cough  from  above  did  not  silence  her. 
She  answered  it  with  a  shrug.  She  meant  to  say  all  she 
had  to  say,  though  the  ground  were  covered  with  eaves- 
droppers. 

**I  shan't  forget  our  talks,"  she  went  on;  ''under 
the  dam,  with  Paul's  models.  You  '11  get  on  now; 
you  '11  do  all  you  wanted  to  do ;  but  I  was  in  at  the  be- 
ginning, wasn't  I?" 

"You  were,  indeed,"  he  answered;  "at  the  darkest 
part  of  it,  the  best  thing  that  ever  happened  to  me. 
And  now  you  've  got  to  go.  I  'm  keeping  you  too 
long." 

Mr.  Samson  coughed  again  as  they  shook  hands  and 
came  down  the  steps  to  assist  Margaret  into  the  cart. 

"Remember,"  said  the  girl;  "you  must  write.  And 
I  shall  always  be  glad  and  proud  I  knew  you.  Good- 
by  and  good  luck." 

"Good-by,"  said  the  Kafir.  "I  '11  write.  The  best 
of  luck." 

Paul  put  his  rug  over  her  knees  and  reached  for  his 
whip.  The  tall  horses  leaned  and  started,  and  the  stoep 
and  its  occupants,  and  the  Kafir  and  Mr.  Samson,  slid 
back.  A  thin  chorus  of  "good-bys"  rose,  and  Margaret 
leaned  out  to  wave  her  hand.  A  watery  sun  shone  on 
them  feebly  between  clouds  and  they  looked  like  the  cul- 
minating scene  in  some  lugubrious  drama. 

393 


FLOWER  0*  THE  PEACH 

"When  next  she  looked  back,  she  saw  the  house  against 
the  gray  sky,  solitary  and  little,  with  all  the  Karoo  for 
its  background.  It  looked  unsubstantial  and  vague,  as 
though  a  mirage  were  left  over  from  the  months  of  sun, 
to  be  the  abode  of  troubles  and  perplexities  that  would 
soon  be  dim  and  remote  also.  Paul  pulled  his  horses  to 
a  standstill  that  she  might  see  better;  but  even  at  that 
moment  fresh  rain  drummed  on  the  hood  of  the  cart 
and  came  threshing  about  them,  blotting  the  house  from 
view. 

*^That  's  the  last  of  it,  Paul,''  said  Margaret.  ''No 
more  looking  back  now.'' 

Paul  smiled  slowly  and  presently  found  words. 

*'When  we  come  to  the  station,''  he  said,  ''I  will  find 
a  Kafir  to  hold  the  horses  and  I  will  take  you  to  the 
train.     But  I  will  not  say  much  good-by." 

*'Why  not?"  inquired  Margaret. 

** Because  soon  I  am  coming  to  London  too,"  he  an- 
swered happily,  ''and  I  will  see  you  there." 

Mr.  Samson  and  Ford  were  the  last  to  reenter  the 
house.  The  Kafir  had  gone  off  unnoticed,  saying  noth- 
ing ;  and  Mrs.  Jakes  could  not  escape  the  conversational 
attentions  of  Mrs.  du  Preez  and  was  suffering  in  the 
drawing-room.  The  two  men  stayed  to  watch  the  cart 
till  the  rain  swept  in  and  hid  it.  Then  Mr.  Samson 
resumed  his  threatful  glare  at  Ford. 

"Look  here,"  he  said  formidably.  "What  d'you 
mean  by  your  dashed  cheek?     Eh?" 

"Sorry,"  said  Ford  calmly. 

Mr.  Samson  snorted.  "Are  you?"  he  said.  "Well 
—all  right!" 

THE  END 


394 


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